Ivory and Gold
by Vivid Butterfly
Summary: Karofsky/Kurt. We are not who we were in high school, but that doesn't always change anything at all. An AU story in which Dave never came back to WMHS after being expelled and how the ghost of who you used to be can still affect who you have become.
1. Chapter 1

Dave had been good at school, once upon a time, but after his awful semester Junior year where he had barely maintained 2.0 for sports eligibility and got expelled from McKinley High, hopes about college had pretty quickly been dashed. Of course after the whole… incident his grades got back to normal and he rocked his SAT scores. So when he got offered a full-ride sports scholarship to a college in Boston for hockey, he jumps at the opportunity. His parents are on board, of course, and proud that their idiot jock son had made it to a good school despite all his acting out.

The first semester was one of the hardest things that Dave has ever done. If he isn't practicing or training he's stuck in his dorm studying, but the team provides him with a tutor who helps him learn how to try again and he passes all his classes; she also tells him that she's pretty sure he might have dyslexia and he should really consider getting tested, but she offers him some tips to help with reading comprehension. He doesn't take her seriously. He's been doing fine long enough.

He kicks ass on the ice, does okay in his classes, and hangs out with his team on trivia nights in a local pub. That's the pattern that has developed and that is the one he'll stick with.

The idea of _not_ being a total idiot jock seems so completely foreign to him after so long that he can't even begin to believe her, at least not until he starts following her advice and writes a paper for his late 19th century English literature class on _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ that earns him his first A minus since he was in sophomore year.

Dave can't even begin to think of words to express how he's feeling, but he tries to explain it to his parents over the phone. It's like this unbelievable shakiness in his chest. Like any moments he feels like he might puke or his heart might explode. It feels like he's finally, _finally_ doing something right for once in his life. They doesn't seem to really get it, so Dave changes the subject back to Thanksgiving plans and he has to tell his mother for the sixteenth time that he doesn't have a girlfriend to bring.

The whole... gay thing, well that's still there, obviously, but he hasn't shoved a kid in to a locker since he got expelled from McKinley. And while he tries not to admit it, sometimes when he's in bed or in the shower jerking off, he thinks back to the day in the locker room. But, in his fantasies Kurt doesn't push him away, because Kurt doesn't _want_ to push him away.

The summer after his freshman year he moves in to a house with the other guys from the hockey team. It is pretty much like living in a frat house except you have to wake up at five AM to go out on morning runs and sometimes the team's nutritionist comes in and clears out all the junk food when they're away at practice.

One evening, right after finals one of his teammates runs down the stairs and hurdles himself over the old couch to land next to Dave, who is reading a play by Oscar Wilde.

"We're going to go get some pussy tonight," he announces, "you in?"

And then Dave says it, as easily as he ever could have while he refuses to look up from his reading at his teammate "I'm gay, Clyde."

"You're joking," the hockey player replies flatly.

"No," Dave's voice is a little lower now, and he isn't exactly scared, but he isn't exactly certain either.

"You've seriously been keeping this from us?" the blond stands up and takes a step away from the couch, "Christ Karofsky! Gay dudes are like girl Kryptonite. Weakens their defenses, gets you in their panties in like half the time and half the effort. We should go to Rise tonight."

Dave takes a second to respond, but eventually he does.

"Isn't that a gay club?"

"Yeah, man. Tons of straight girls go there with their gay dude friends and they get all horny and shit and then you can swoop in and get laid. I'll tell the boys and you… you need to go upstairs and get changed."

Dave closes his book and looks down at the gray zip-up team sweatshirt and jeans he has on.

"What's wrong with this?"

Clyde takes one look at him and laughs, "Seriously? No one's going to believe you're gay if you're dressed like that."

He does go upstairs and changes in to a pair of jeans that don't have a food stain from dinner and a t-shirt that doesn't smell like he's been wearing it for the last three days (which he has). He considers wearing that nice button-up shirt his mom sent him for his birthday, but ends up wearing a plain blue polo shirt instead.

That night every guy on the team gets laid, except for Dave who spends most of the evening sitting awkwardly at the bar watching people dance and refusing the advances of anyone who tries to strike up a conversation.

They end up going to that club once every month or two, usually after a particularly good exciting win when everyone his hopped up on adrenaline, or after a particularly bad loss when they just need to fuck. He thinks maybe he'll find a guy like himself one day, someone who likes beer, sports and cars. Someone who is just as tone deaf as him and likes action movies and can't speak French. Some of those guys approach him and they get in to debates about who is going to win the world series or the super bowl, but no matter what he tries, he finds himself attracted to the same thing he always has, thin beautiful boys with haughty eyes. And he goes home alone.

Dave doesn't really know what he wants to do after he graduates from here, if he doesn't get picked up to play professionally that is. There have been a few scouts and their team is doing really well, but if that doesn't pan out he wants a backup plan. The last thing he wants to do is go back to Lima and live in his parents' basement. He could always join the military, as long as they don't ask him and he doesn't tell, but if they did found out he'd get discharged and would it really be worth all the effort?

He actually kind of likes English now, which used to be his worst subject, and sometimes he even writes short stories and poems. It makes him feel kind of girly when he does, so he hasn't done anything with them and he's pretty sure they're crap. He doesn't want to be an author or anything like that, but he does get this idea that maybe he could teach. It seems so utterly ridiculous that he can't help but laugh at himself, but the more he thinks about it the more the idea seems to take hold.

Maybe he could even stop the kids like him from doing the stuff he'd done. Maybe he could make someone's life a little less awful.

It isn't until halfway through the first semester of his junior year that he runs in to him. It seems so surreal, almost like one of his old dreams, that he totally forgets the conversation he's having and wanders away midsentence. He'd heard that Kurt had gone to that famous Berklee music school, but Boston is a big city and bumping in to Kurt is like some abstract dream that won't ever take shape. Dave though he never he'd see him again, but there he is across the room walking towards a group of theater-looking kids.

"Hummel!" he calls out once and then again as he presses through the crowd and grabs him by the arm. When the boy whips around he pulls his arm away.

"Jesus, Kurt," he breaths out as he lets go of him, "Don't looks so scared. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Karofsky? What're you even doing outside of Lima?" He looks angry and yeah, no that makes sense. All those times with his hand on his cock, imagining it was Kurt's, imagining him wanting Dave as much as he wanted him. Those were only fantasies.

This is reality and he's the bastard jock he used to shove him in to lockers.

"Scholarship," he mumbles and shoves his hand in to the pockets of his sweatshirt and glances back over his shoulder to his teammates. Most of them aren't watching, but those that are happen to be giving him the thumps up, "only way a meathead like me could get out of there, right?"

"What do you want, Karofsky?"

"Nothing," Dave says quickly and recoils a bit with that condescending glare Kurt is sending his way. He feels sixteen again: angry, confused, frustrated, and desperately lost. "I just... I saw you and thought maybe I could-"

"You could what? Try and get in my pants again?"

"No. You already told me you don't dig on chubby guys. I, um," he pauses and his jaw twitches, "I thought I could apologize."

"Really? You're going to say you're sorry and think that will fix everything?"

"I never said it'd-"

"Well I've got news for you, you made my life a goddamn living hell because of your own damn issues. Do you have any idea what I was going through? My mom was dead. Did you know my Dad almost died? He was in a coma. Do you even know what that word means? No, of course you don't because you're a dumb asshole who doesn't give a fuck about anyone else's feelings. You getting expelled was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I'm sorry," he whispers pitifully. And he genuinely, truly is.

"Yes, sorry sorry sorry. Everyone is sorry and no one did a goddamn thing about it, but Sue. You couldn't handle then fact that you like cock you had to take it out on me because I had the courage to come out. But you had to be a coward about the whole thing and act like a kindergartner trying to pull my pigtails because you _liked_ me and you couldn't handle it. You haven't changed have you? You're still the pathetic bastard who-"

"I almost forgot how much of a little bitch you could be," Dave interrupts and god he still wants him so unbelievably badly it honestly _aches_.

"Fuck you," Kurt hisses and moves to slap him.

Dave catches his hand and pins it against the wall above him as he closes the distance between them. He presses up against Kurt and kisses him, just as desperate as the first time. He whimpers again, just like last time, as he lets go and takes a quick step back. It doesn't even occur to him that there are people around him this time.

"I... I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. I need to go-"

Kurt grabs on to the front of his sweatshirt and pulls him back, slides a hand behind the nape of his neck and pulls his face down and kisses him.

"You are taking me home tonight," Kurt whispers in his ear and it makes Dave shiver.

"Yeah, just let me text my roommate." He does that with a simple **You have the couch tonight. You've owed me.** Catcalls come from the team the minute his roommate receives it. Above the cheering he can hear Clyde distinctly yelling 'GET SOME' as he and Kurt move past them to leave the bar.

Dave is blushing, but he's too giddy to feel embarrassed. So giddy in fact he doesn't even register that Kurt is pointedly looking at someone from the table of theater kids.

"This tends to be the time when I claim it's not usually this messy," Dave explains a little self-consciously as he opens the door to his shared bedroom and kicks some dirty clothes under the bed on his side of the room, "but that would be a total lie."

Dave rubs at his arms nervously before he adds, "Twelve guys live in this house, so yeah, it tends to be pretty messy most of the time."

"Charming," Kurt replies as he scans the room. His eyes focus on the bookshelf that divides the room in halves and moves so he is standing in front of it and looking over it intently. Dave's side of the room is pretty sterile, thrift store computer desk and plain cotton sheets. His roommate has posters and pictures up over his walls and red comforter.

"Your roommate reads Oscar Wilde?" Kurt sounds slightly impressed, but mostly astounded.

"Um, no. Those are mine."

Kurt raises an eyebrow and asks "You can read?"

Dave's mouth twitches, but he doesn't respond.

"What, Karofsky?"

"Dave," he replies, "you can call me Dave."

Kurt raises an eyebrow again and stares at him.

"I can get you a beer if you like-" Kurt scoffs and Dave feels boorish and uncultured compared to the fashionable young man standing in front of his bookshelf judging his possession, "or we have soda, water, orange juice. There's some sangria, I think if you want that. One of the guys is from Spain and he makes it every few weeks. It's actually pretty good."

"Sure," he idly replies as he runs his finger over the spine of one of the books.

Dave goes down stairs to the kitchen where he spends ten minutes trying to find an acceptable glass and when he finally does he has to wash it out because it still has lipstick stains on it. He pours it for Kurt and considers getting some for himself, but there is only one wine glass he can find and he can't bear the thought of how Kurt will look at him if he drinks wine out of a regular glass, so he settles for a beer and scales the stairs back to his room.

The minute he comes back he knows something is off, Kurt is standing at the other side of his room holding a piece of paper in his right hand

Kurt clears his throat and begins to read:

"It's cold where I am now,  
and if I could I would  
shrug off the weight of the sky,  
move oceans and worlds  
just so I could go to the place  
where I held you close once  
and felt your heartbeat  
underneath my finger tips."

"Give that back!" Dave calls out and puts down the drinks on his roommate's computer desk near the doorway so he can close the distance between them and snatch the piece of binder paper away from Kurt.

"That wasn't half-bad," Kurt sounds almost surprised before he adds, "so, when _did_ you learn to read Dave?"

"Second semester, Freshman year" he replies honestly as he folds the paper up and shoves it in his pocket, "after I got diagnosed with dyslexia."

For a second Kurt almost looks apologetic but it fades quickly as he rolls his eyes, "Well, that would explain why you always wrote FAG backwards on my forehead."

"If you're just going to be a bitch you should leave."

"Oh, because you were always _such_ a gentleman."

"I'm not that guy anymore!" Dave snaps back, "It's too bad you can't see that."

There is silence for a few seconds before Kurt asks quietly, "Why did you hate me so much?"

"It wasn't just because you were out, it wasn't just the crush," Dave mumbles staring up at the ceiling arms folding his arms over his chest "I mean that was a lot of it, but it wasn't all of it. It was-"

"It was?"

"You made me feel dumb. And Inadequate and cowardly."

"Really?" Kurt's arms are crossed over his thing chest; Dave moves over to the edge of his bed and sits down.

"Yeah, I wanted to be like you: smart, talented, driven, and god, you were so brave."

"I wasn't," Kurt laughs as he takes a seat next to Dave on the bed, "I just wasn't good enough to hide."

Kurt places a hand on Dave's thigh and Dave doesn't move away.

They're sitting on Dave's bed with their backs against wall drinking. Dave has finished about a quarter of his beer because he keeps forgetting he has it. Mostly he's just staring at Kurt out of the corner of his eyes and trying not to be too obvious about it.

"I thought you'd have a bigger bed," Kurt comments. It's an extra long twin, like the beds they provide in dormrooms across America.

"We didn't really have enough room in here for anything else. And it's not like I usually have overnight guests so it's big enough."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at this comment and looks like he's about to say something so Dave interrupts him.

"You're still doing music and stuff, right?" Kurt lets out a little condescending huff that should probably make Dave feel uncomfortable, but he's too busy staring at Kurt's lips.

Then Kurt is talking for like maybe ten, fifteen, minutes about music and fashion and things that just go completely over Dave's head.

When he finishes talking Kurt looks like he expects Dave to say something back so he takes a sip of his beer to delay his response a few seconds longer while he thinks of something intelligent to say.

"That's cool."

Kurt raises an eyebrow.

"I mean," he shrugs, "I figured you'd still be doing stuff like that. You were really creative and clearly you liked fashion. You always dressed really nicely."

"I thought you hated the way I dressed."

"It made my eyes tired," Dave replies and takes another sip of his beer so that he has something to do other than sit there and feel uncomfortable. Kurt has set down his wine glass mostly untouched on the bedside table and looks over at Dave with something akin to curiosity.

"What does that even mean?"

"I… couldn't stop staring at you."

Kurt laughs then, sharp and a little condescending. It has an 'I-told-you-so' sort of air to it.

"You wore a _corset_ to French one day. What did you think would happen?"

"Well I certainly didn't dress myself in the morning thinking 'Now what will sexually excite the homophobic jock who tosses me in to lockers?'"

Dave winces.

"Kurt, if I could-"

"Don't say anything Karofsky." He doesn't and the room is palpably silent for a few minutes more before Kurt speaks again.

"Are those Oscar Wilde books really yours?"

"Um, yeah. Why?"

"The idea of a Neanderthal like you reading let alone understanding Wilde is almost laughable."

"Alright, I'm done." Dave stands up and stares down at Kurt, his jaw twitching.

"Get out."

Kurt tugs him back down on to the bed, straddles him, and whispers in his ear "I think I have a better idea."

"I'm serious, Kurt," Dave says as Kurt looks down at him smugly, but he knows Kurt can feel he's hard and his hands are already unwinding the striped scarf from around the thin man's neck and tossing it on the ground.

"Of course you are, Karofsky," Kurt replies as he pulls off Dave's shirt, and then adds "Not as chubby as I thought" while he tosses it to the side.

"God, you're a bitch," Dave growls as he flips Kurt on to his back and starts to impatiently undo the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey!" Kurt cries out indignantly, "Be careful, that's Armani."

"I don't care," Dave replies as he roughly pulls it off and lets it fall onto the ground with the rest of Dave's dirty clothing.

Kurt looks like he's about to protest when Dave interrupts him with a fierce kiss; he continues to kiss his way down Kurt's chest until he's undoing the buckle on Kurt's fancy belt and pulling off his slacks.

Kurt closes his eyes, bites his lip, and forgets all about his shirt.

He falls asleep with his arm wrapped around Kurt's waist and his face buried in his neck.

In the morning he wakes alone with no evidence that anyone else was there the night before, except for the condoms in the trashcan and the striped scarf on the ground. He empties the trash downstairs and as he walks by the couch he smacks his roommate on the back of the head to wake him.

"Room's clear," he informs him dispassionately.

"He was cute," his roommate yawns as he trudges up the stairs behind Dave, blanket wrapped around him like a cloak, "in a looks like 12-year-old gay Hitler youth Liza Minnelli sort of way. Looked like you two knew each other-" his speech is interrupted by another yawn as he flops on the bed and curls up-"he your ex or something?"

"Not even close," Dave mumbles as he takes a seat in front of his computer, "I used to toss that fucker into lockers back in high school."

"God, you were a _dick_ Karofsky."

"You don't know the half of it," he replies as he logs on to facebook and checks his updates. He's been tagged in some pictures from last night which is fairly unremarkable, except for the last photo of him standing and talking with Kurt taken from across the bar. The caption reads 'Some twink Karofsky had the hots for.'

He spends probably more time than he should analyzing the look on Kurt's face in the picture and by the end he has arrived at the conclusion that he has no idea what it means.

He goes to edit his profile and under 'interested in' he checks the box labeled men and hits save. He's still friends with people on here from highschool, mostly members of the football team and hockey team, but fuck it right? He's in Boston and never plans on moving back to Lima.

After a few minutes of silence Dave asks, "Who the hell is Liza Minnelli?" but his roommate has already fallen back asleep.

* * *

When he goes out the next evening he picks up Kurt's scarf from off the floor and wraps it around his neck; he feels like the biggest idiot in the world, but doesn't take it off.

* * *

The following week Dave has an eight page paper he needs to write for his Modernist Literature class, so he barely even thinks about Kurt. Just every few hours he'll pause for a second and remember what it was like to feel his body under him. But then he remembers his essay and goes back to writing, he decided to write about the portrayal of religion in James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and tie it in with the social history of 20th century Ireland.

Dave spends his weekend sitting in front of his computer in his boxers drinking cans of mountain dew and eating sour patch kids and cold pizza while he carefully, letter by letter, types out an argument. It's only when he gets really stuck at a particular sentence or paragraph that he goes on to facebook and ends up looking at Kurt's profile page. He stares at the picture of him for longer than he should and closes the window entirely, not bothering to send him a friend request. He loses count of the times he does this before the weekend is over.

At three thirty in the morning when it's technically Sunday, but still feels like Saturday, his roommate bursts in with a half-naked girl. She shrieks and covers her breast with her hands when she spots Dave sitting at his desk, the glow of the screen illuminating his puzzled face.

"He saw my tits!" she cries out.

"It's okay!" his roommate drunkenly soothes as he kisses the back of her neck, "Karofsky's a gay. Right Karofsky?" Dave shuts his laptop and grabs a blanket and pillow off of his bed and makes his way to the door.

"Yup," he replies dryly as he exits his room and shuts the door behind him. Downstairs the goalie is asleep on the good couch, and one of the forwards is passed out in the recliner. The ratty couch has some girl he doesn't recognize asleep on it. He moves to the table in the kitchen, sets up his laptop and wraps the blanket around his body before getting back to work.

When his battery starts to run low three hours later he saves the file and shuts the laptop. He's a little over the length requirement so he wonders what he should cut out while he stands up, leaving his behind blanket on the chair as moves to the fridge where he tries to find something to eat. After a few minutes of consideration he decides to make himself a quesadilla with some of the leftover pepperjack cheese and roastbeef in the fridge. He grabs one of the pans out of the drying rack, places it on the stove, butters the surface and starts cooking.

He sits on down on the tiled counter as he eats, not bothering to get a plate or silverware because the idea of doing dishes is too exhausting at the moment. He watches the sunrise through the kitchen window and tries not to think about Kurt.

By the time he moves back to the living room the couch is clear so he curls up with his pillow and blanket and falls asleep.

Around noon he wakes up when three of the defenders are in the middle of a game of Halo. He yawns, sits up and holds his hand and catches the controller that gets thrown to him. Two of the boys sit on either side of him while the other one stays seated in the recliner. A bit later they switch to some WW2 game and Karofsky spends the next hour and a half shooting Nazis in the face which is more than a bit satisfying.

When he gets bored he tosses the controller to one of the boys whose gathered around to watch them play, then collects his blanket and computer to head upstairs. He forgets his pillow, but there is another one on his bed so he leaves it downstairs. He collapses on the mattress and falls asleep a few minutes later.


	2. Chapter 2

The next week passes by uneventfully enough (practice, practice, paper, practice, practice, game, practice, drinks, halo, practice) until it's the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and he's taking the T to get to the Logan International Airport to catch his flight back to Ohio. One of the other players is flying to Wisconsin and they walk to the station together and hang out talking in the terminal together, but his flight leaves an hour before Dave's so once he's boarded Dave walks to his gate and waits to be seated.

While he stands in line waiting to get on the plane, he watches the large TV screen as it plays a muted version of FOX news. The subtitles lag behind and Dave's reading about some double homicide in Providence while images of adorable kittens from what has to be a fluff piece fill the screen.

Dave spends the first half hour of the flight napping and the second half reading poetry for one of his classes while feeling supremely awkward about it. He has the aisles seat, which is good because when no one is moving around he can stretch his legs out. The woman next to him is in her midforties, probably, and occupied with what looks like some trashy sort of romance novel from the cover.

When the flight attendants stop by to deliver drinks and snacks one takes a look at the cover of his book and smiles. He is probably a few years older than Dave, and an inch or two taller and quite a few inches slimmer. Subconsciously Dave registers that he's very handsome, but thinks little of it as the man asks him what he wants

"Sprite, or 7-Up," Dave responds, "Whatever you have."

When the man hands him his drink their fingers touch and he recites,

"A stranger has come,  
To share my room in the house not right in the head,  
A girl mad as birds."

Dave feels his face growing warm and he offers the man an awkward smile. He can just barely make out the first two letters on his name tag because of the way he's positioned. 'JA-' something. James, maybe? Jason? Jared? His mouth feels dry and he isn't sure what posses him to do it, but he remembers the ending lines from that poem and he replies, his voice only cracking a bit as he does:

"And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last  
I may without fail  
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars."

The flight attendant smiles at him in return, it's bright white and charming. He moves on to help the woman next to him without any hesitation and Dave can feel his warm leg pressed against his.

As much as he tries to distract himself by reading, Dave can't help but spend the last hour of the flight following the man with his eyes whenever he walks around the cabin. And when he brings Dave another drink the napkin has a name written in precise neat handwriting, four letters in all caps 'JAKE' and number written on it.

He stares at it in disbelief for what feels like an eternity, but the moment he realizes what it is, he starts to feel angry. He wonders if he's got some big neon style sign over his head now flashing 'GAY' in rainbow colors for everyone to see who looks at him long enough. He wasn't even reading something like Ginsberg or Wilde; it wasn't some gay icon it was just a damn book of poetry for a college English class. But that man still knew. Who else could tell now? The woman sitting next to him, could she just glance over and know like that guy had known? The young mother in 14E? If she looked over her shoulder back at him would she able to tell?

The thought is too exhausting, so Dave places the napkin inside the book as a place holder and shuts it before shoving it in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. He tries not to think about it.

Without any checked baggage he's out of the airport pretty soon after landing. A duffle bag is slung over his shoulder as he waits for his ride by the corner of the sidewalk. He considers calling, but he knows his parents well enough that they checked on the flight to make sure it wasn't delayed and are on their way.

It is his dad who comes to get him after he has been waiting for ten minutes. He doesn't even get a chance to step out of the car before Dave hops in and flings his bag in the back seat. His dad's hair looks grayer than he last remembered, so does his goatee,

"Hey," Dave greets, "thanks for picking me up."

"I had today off from work," he dad replies as he turns the car back on, looks over his shoulder and pulls away from the curb. "Your mother has already started cooking. Glad you're back, David."

"Glad to be back," he replies and hopes it doesn't sound as stiff as it feels.

The ride is mostly quiet, interspersed with slightly stilted conversations about work, sports, and school. When his dad turns on the radio to some AM station announcing a college football game, Dave pulls out his slim paper back from the pocket of his zip-up hooded sweatshirt. The napkin is still there so he takes it out and shoves it in his jeans pocket before he starts to read.

"What're you reading?" his father asks glancing over at him through the corner of his eyes while they take the highway back towards Lima. Dave doesn't know when he stopped thinking about it as 'Home.'

"Dylan Thomas," he replies, "he was a Welsh writer. It's for a class on poetry I'm taking."

His dad nods and doesn't say anything for a while. Dave has been rereading the same two lines over and over like he's caught in some weird time paradox. Almost like that episode of Star Trek when the Enterprise gets stuck in a time loop and keeps living the same day over and over again until Data saves them. He used to have a bit of a thing for Riker in the early seasons and Wesley Crusher in the later ones.

"Have you decided on a major?"

"English, I think," Dave mutters even though he declared it three months ago. He isn't sure why he hasn't told his parents, though he has this near-silent but persistent feeling it's because he is afraid they'll think it's stupid.

"You enjoy it?" his father asks and Dave nods in response, "You're good at it? Your mother has told me you've been doing very well."

It takes Dave a second to respond to the second question but when he does he does so out loud, "Yes. I am." It feels weird to say it, but it's the truth. He likes it and it is one thing aside from hockey and bullying that he has ever been _really_ good at. And he likes being good at something again.

"Then you should do that," his father concludes easily. Dave nods silently and stares down at the black text on the white page. He reads the same to lines again.

"I don't think we've said it enough," his dad continues a few minutes later, "but your mother and I, we're very proud of you, David. You've done very well for yourself, better than either of us could have ever expected. I know things were very tough for you for a while, but you have grown in to a man we can both be proud of. I love you, David."

Dave can't respond for the first two minutes because his throat is too tight, but after a while he is able to squeeze out a, "Thanks, Dad." And there is a lot of things that go left unsaid behind it, but right now that's all he can manage.

And it's enough.

* * *

"Your car needs an oil change," his father informs him when they arrive home, "and new tires. Don't be too hard on it this weekend." Dave nods and his father keeps talking as his unlocks the door.

"I keep meaning to take it in, but I never have the time to get around to it."

"I could do it," Dave offers as he walks in to the house and tosses his bag on the couch.

"David, put that in your room." Dave picks up the bag and walks down the hall to his old room, opens the door and tosses it on to his old bed. His room hasn't changed at all from highschool, not that it was particularly personalized back then. White walls, white sheets, dark blue comforter. Trophies and medals decorating a bookshelf. He shuts the door.

He comes back to the living room where his father is sitting down watching a TIVOed NHL game. Dave plops down on the other side of the couch. It's almost two in the afternoon according to the large clock hanging over the TV. A minute later he remembers that in eighth grade someone started a rumor he couldn't read analog clocks. He can smirk at it now, the ridiculous specificity of it and all that, but back when he was just turning thirteen and already feeling like a clumsy giant (and not to mention thinking about boys whenever he jerked off) it had made him shove a few people around until they directed their attention towards someone who wasn't able to fight back.

They watch the game together, which goes much quicker when his dad fastforwards through time outs and commercial breaks.

"You still want to take your car in today?"

"Sure," Dave responds as he stands up from the couch.

"Take it to the place on Fourth Street. They usually close at five thirty or six." His dad pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and hands him a twenty.

"Shouldn't take more than an hour, but give me a call if it does. Put it all on your credit card and get yourself something to eat."

Thanking his dad he grabs his old keys, still sitting on the table near the door, and heads out side to his car.

Dave doesn't take it to the place off of fourth street. He takes it to the oneon Elm. When he pulls up to the garage he parks in one of the designated spots and starts moving towards the mechanic in dark blue coveralls and a baseball cap who is bent over the hood of a mustang.

"We close at four today," he replies gruffly without looking up.

Dave looks at his cellphone: three forty.

"Oh," he replies, and feels dumb because he doesn't know what else to say. He stands there for another minute without saying anything and then the man looks up at him.

"Are you still open tomorrow? Could I come back then?" Dave asks, "I know it's the day before Thanksgiving…"

"What do you need?"

"New tires," Dave replies, "and the oil probably should have been changed like six thousand miles ago but I've been away at college and no one's done it."

The man wipes his grease stained hands on a rag and shoves it in his back pocket; The patch no his shirt reads 'BURT.' Dave recognizes him as the man who shoved him up against the bulletin board junior year when he found out Dave had been messing with Kurt.

"If you want to leave it here tonight I can get it back to you by noon tomorrow."

"Awesome," Dave replies almost a little numbly as he pulls his keys out of his pocket and starts to unwind the key to his car off of his key chain.

"You're Kurt Hummel's dad, aren't you?" He has to look down to say it. He really hopes that he looks different enough now that he doesn't remember him.

"Yeah," he replies, "what about it?" Burt looks like he's waiting for him to say something and that was really as far as he'd thought out the conversation.

"Nothing. I went to high school with him… Is he coming back this week?"

Burt nods his chin up and looks at Dave, "What's your name, kid?"

He swallows and his voice feels dry and like it might crack , "David."

"I'll tell him you said 'Hi.'" He extends his hand for the key and Dave places it in his palm.

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel." Dave shoves his hands in his pockets immediately after that and starts the walk back to his house. He knows his dad would come pick him up if he called him, but he wants to walk despite the brisk late November air.

When he arrives home about a half hour later Dave sits down on the couch and watches a football game with his dad. He spends most of the time unable to concentrate and simply stares at the figures on the screen and makes vague agreeing sorts of noises whenever his dad says something to him.

"David… David. David"

"Huh?" He looks up and over at his father.

"I asked, were you able to get your oil changed?"

"They were closing when I showed up. It'll be ready tomorrow around noon."

"You walked home?"

Dave shrugs, then nods, "Been sitting all day thought the fresh air would do me some good."

His dad nods in approval and Dave makes it to the end of the third quarter before he excuses himself and heads to the bathroom.

For a good five minutes he simply stares at himself in the mirror before he begins to undress and hops in the shower. Much of the shower is spent with him sitting on the floor of the tub because it just seems like too much energy to stand.

He leaves his clothes on the floor when he has finished and heads in to his old room, towel wrapped around his waist, feeling like almost nothing has changed. Knocking the bag on to the floor he falls down on the bed and stares at the unmoving ceiling fan.

Leaning over the bed he unzips his bag to grab clean boxers, but his fingers touch the knit wool of a scarf and he pulls that out. He's probably imagining it but, it still smells like Kurt and that makes him think about The Night.

Dave has a few of those things, moments so significant they become proper nouns: The Kiss, The Confrontation, The Fight, The Threat and of course there is The Night now, and that has kept him up more than any of the other ones combined.

He gets hard from thinking about Kurt and the phantom scent; Dave jerks off, feeling like a ridiculous teenager the entire time trying not to remember how many times he has done this before. What he does remember is the way Kurt tasted in his mouth, the feeling of the other man's soft skin under his calloused hands. How it felt to be inside of him…

And when he comes he curses and wipes himself off on the towel before tossing it on the floor of his room. All in all it's more frustrating than satisfying and he doesn't even bother dressing. Instead curls under his blankets and tries to fall asleep.

Dave wakes way too early the next morning so he goes for a jog. The streets are peaceful and dark. He's always liked it best when the paths are empty and coated in soft fog. Back in high school sometimes he used to imagine he was the protagonist in a horror film; it didn't make for particularly peaceful runs, but it did keep him from getting bored.

It's only seven thirty when he comes back so Dave takes a shower and then heads to the living room where he reconnects his dust covered XBOX and plays Halo for three hours. He keeps glancing at the clock urging it to speed up so he can leave to get his car.

He has this hope, irrational and fluttering around the edges of his stomach, that Kurt will be there. He tells himself he won't be the entire walk to the garage, but when he arrives and is greeted by Burt Hummel who hands him the write up about what was done to his car he still can't stop himself from glancing around the garage or feeling a little disappointed when he doesn't find him. Burt hasn't seemed to have figured out that Dave is _that_ Dave from the principal's office, and Dave is very grateful for that. He isn't sure what he would do if he recognized him.

Burt directs to an area to pay and get his key back; a tall dark-haired guy around his age is behind the counter reading a magazine.

"Hudson?" Dave asks in disbelief.

The man lifts up his head, yep, that is definitely Finn Hudson.

"Karofsky?"

"I almost forgot Mr. Hummel is your stepdad," Dave offers as explanation as he moves to the counter. He remembers watching Kurt and Finn practicing dancing in the choir room and the strange pang of jealously that had coursed through him.

"Yeah, I help him out in the garage on breaks. Winter, Summer, Spring."

Dave nods and hands the credit card to Finn who swipes it.

"You and Berry still together?"Dave asks as polite filler; he hasn't heard much in the way of Lima news since he left for college. He's spent the last few summers at training camps or taking classes.

"No. We broke up a while ago. She went to New York and I'm at Ohio State. It was too hard."

"Oh, sucks man."

"S'alright, She's got some part on Broadway about sex crazed teenagers in Germany or something, so she's happy. We still talk sometimes. Well, she still talks at me sometimes. Some of the Glee Club is back this weekend so we're all going to go get dinner on Friday."

Dave nods like he is commiserating and understands what if feels like to have a talkative exgirlfriend, which is actually kind of the opposite of what he has: a taciturn one night stand.

"I met a girl at Ohio State and we've been dating for a while. She isn't totally crazy, so that's pretty cool."

Finn hands him a pen and the receipt and Dave signs it. As he exchanges the signed receipt and pen for his card and key he says clearly, "I'm sorry I was such a dick to you. Back in high school."

Finn looks started and then his expression settles in to something that looks like cautious optimism.

"I'm sorry I made fun of you in fifth grade," Finn responds, "about getting pubes, I mean."

Dave nods and puts his card in his wallet and attaches his car key to his keychain.

"Good luck with school, Finn"

Finn nods back, "You too, man."

* * *

The actual day Thanksgiving is pretty uneventful. He helps set the table and his mother cooks a delicious meal and he and his family gather around and eat it.

The dinner table carefully avoids politics and the conversation is mostly inane chatter. Dave is asked about school so he mentions he's majoring in English and a scout from either the Rangers an/or the Penguins is rumored to be showing up at their game in two weeks. He helps clear away the dishes and load them in the washer when the time comes.

After the meal he plays XBOX live with his younger cousin, who has just turned fourteen and swears like a goddamn sailor, and eats pie. When the kid starts calling the other players cocksuckers and fags over the headset Dave punches him in the arm, and he doesn't even have to stop shooting Nazis to do it.

It's with a small sense of pleasure that Dave notes his cousin screams like a little girl.

"Watch your mouth," Dave growls.

"But you used to-" he protests weakly before trailing off when he sees the angry look on Dave's face.

"I don't anymore," he says which is kind of a lie because he still does sometimes during particularly heated matches, but mostly he just tells the opposing team to suck his cock which technically isn't homophobic, right? Whether it is or not, he's still sure Kurt would still roll his eyes at it and look haughty and indignant.

* * *

Later that night after his relatives have left Dave flicks through the phonebook and finds the entry for Hummel, Burt and Carole. He takes his cellphone and carefully enters the number before hitting send and placing the phone against his ear as he walks in to his room and shuts the door.

On the third ring familiar voices answers it with a 'Hello?'

"Kurt?"

"Yes, who is calling?"

"I still have your scarf," Dave blurts out like an idiot.

"Karofsky?"

He had been running over what to say for ages, but it's all escaped him and he can barely form words now.

"Yeah,. I... I still have your scarf I thought maybe you'd want it back."

There is a moment of silence that seems palpable to Dave over the phone.

"It's the one that's purple and red," he offers, "I could drop it by your house if you wanted. Or I could give it back in Boston. I heard you were in Lima this weekend so I thought-"

"What do you want?"

Dave's mouth opens, but he doesn't say anything for a good thirty seconds.

"Dinner," Dave finally replies, "or maybe just drinks. Coffee, even. Whatever you want. I thought maybe we could hang out. Together."

"Breadstix," Kurt says, "Eight o'clock tomorrow."

Dave nods, realizes Kurt can't see him nodding and says, "Awesome. Sounds great. See you then."

He doesn't get any more response than a dial tone because Kurt has already hung up.

As dumb as he feels doing it, Dave spends nearly two hours getting ready. The first hour consists of him showering and shaving off the two days worth of stubble on his face. Then he goes to his room after he has dried off and puts on deodorant; he changes in to a pair if his khakis and pulls on a polo shirt. The shirt doesn't look right though so he pulls it off and tosses it on the floor. He opens the closet doors and looks through his shirts before pulling out a long sleeved button up shirt; he thinks it was a gift from an aunt a few birthdays ago. He grabs a tie and ties it; after looking at himself in the mirror he feels like it is iway/i too much, loosens it, pulls it off , and tosses it on the floor. He takes off the khakis and changes in to a pair of dark jeans. The shirt still looks wrong, so he unbuttons it and tosses it on the floor with the others.

He stops, lets out a groan, and rubs his face feeling like an idiot the entire time. He takes a deep breath as he sits down on the edge of his bed and looks down at his bare feet on the off-white carpet of his room. He sits like that for a few minutes before he stands up and pulls on a red short-sleeved shirt from out of his bag and lies back down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling.

He can see the outline of glow-in-the-dark stars on the white plaster and it makes the edges of his lips twitch in to something almost like a smile. When he finally sits back up he gets off the bed and heads to his dresser. He pulls out the sweater on top of the pile of clothing, neatly folded by his mother and slides it on.

"Okay," Dave says to himself, "Stop acting like a fucking girl." Saying this doesn't stop him from tugging at the sleeves of his gray-striped sweater and thinking about changing, but it does stop him from actually changing. The weather application on his phone tells him it's forty degrees outside, so he slides on the red zip-up college sweatshirt and grabs his peacoat from out of the closet. He brings a pair of socks with him to the front door where he kicked off his shoes last.

"Where are you headed to?" his father asks him, eying him from where he stands in the kitchen doorway.

"Meeting up with some friends for dinner," he replies as he slips on his shoes without untying them.

"Okay, have fun. But if you drink too much-"

"I know, call a cab, call you, or crash at a friend's house. I'm almost twenty two, Dad."

His dad nods, but says nothing in response.

He shows up at Breadstix at seven fifty five, hands shoved in his coat's pockets so that they have something to do. Kurt's scarf is draped loosely over his shoulders because he doesn't know what else to do with it before he can give it back to him. The colors probably clash with what he is wearing, but Dave can't bring himself to care about that and he hopes he never will.

He stands outside the restaurant for a good thirty seconds before mumbling, "Right. You can do this," to himself and walking in.

It is warm enough inside that he unbuttons his coat and slides off the scarf so it's being held in his left hand.

He spots Kurt standing near a table and starts walking towards him; he is a little too busy staring at the way Kurt's lithe body looks in his pinstripe gray slacks and tight blue sweater to wonder why Kurt is near such a large table until he's close enough to touch him.

That is when he glances out of the corner of his eye and sees it. Chang is sitting there next to Finn and Sam. Along with what Dave can only guess is every other freaking member of that stupid Glee club.

"Here," Dave grumbles, shoving the scarf in Kurt's hand before turning and walking away, his face burning.


	3. Chapter 3

Dave feels a hand gripping firmly to his shoulder and pulling him back.

"You all remember David Karofsky," Kurt's voice cuts through the awkward silence, as he pushes Dave back towards the table. He could easily shove off the smaller boy and storm out, but for some reason he can't bring himself to do it. Instead he slides down in the chair and offers an almost pained smile towards the former Glee kids.

In that moment, with the fiercest conviction he has ever felt, Dave envies moths and butterflies who spend their formative years inside a cocoon, their changes hidden from the world.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Quinn asks. Her arms are folded over her chest. It's weird to see outside of her Cheerios uniform, but it's even weirder to see Santana and Brittany out of theirs. He doesn't even recognize them at first, but it has been five years.

"Haven't seen him since I beat him up," Sam says. The guy's hair is like three or four shades darker than Dave remembered. And as awkward as Dave feels in this moment he just can't stop himself form laughing.

"Yeah, you we really beating me up when Bieste pulled me off of you. Glad your eye is better by the way."

He regrets it when he says it. It just makes the rest of the group glare at him more. His eyes flicker nervously over to Kurt. This has to be some test, but he isn't exactly sure what is being asked. And Kurt's face isn't giving away anything.

"I invited him," Kurt concludes with an outrageously fake smile. Dave grabs the cloth napkin off of the table and spreads it across his lap to give himself something to do.

"So, where have you been?" Finn asks, offering him a lopsided smile. Thank god, Dave thinks, that he apologized to him earlier. At least he has one ally at the table. Quinn, Puckerman, Santanna, Brittany, Chang, other Asian, Sam, Mercedes, Abrams… they're all surrounding him on either side of the large rounded table. Berry isn't there, which is a bit of relief. He'd found out later from Azimio she had been the one to spearhead the effort to get him away from Kurt. And while the levels of displeasure vary on their face, none of them look happy.

"Boston," Dave replies. His tongue darts out and licks at his chapped lower a lip, a nervous habit from as long as he can remember.

"What were you doing there?" Finn continues, smile still in place. It almost makes him feel bad for drawing on his face in the locker room.

"Dave here got a scholarship," Kurt intercepts.

"Yeah," he replies darting his eyes at the faces around him, "hockey."

"I didn't know that college acceptance boards looked too fondly on expelled students." Quinn is looking down at him haughtily. A gold cross glints over her pink cardigan.

She's probably still upset about that whole 'insperminated' comment if Dave has to guess.

"They reversed the expulsion," Dave replies, "and even with the suspension, well I scored pretty well on my SAT so..." He trails off, grabs one of the breadsticks, and breaks it in half. It's not as good as he remembered it being in high school. It's pretty bland and a bit stale.

"What?" Kurt blurts out.

"I scored pretty well on my SAT," Dave repeats.

"Not that. What do you mean they _reversed_ the expulsion?"

"…The school board decided Sue didn't have enough evidence to expel me. So, they reversed the decision." The right corner of Dave's mouth is twitching up in an uncomfortable smile.

"Why didn't you come back then?" Kurt persists.

David is painfully aware of all the eyes on them. He could lie, come up with something that sounds plausible. But he's done with that part of his life now.

"You didn't want me near you."

"What're you studying, Dave?" Finn continues interrupting the unbelievably awkward silence.

"English," he replies.

And the wheelchair kid, Abrams, says, "I thought you had to be literate to major in English."

"Funny. Haven't heard that joke before," he calmly replies eyes darting over to Kurt.

"Dave really likes Oscar Wilde, don't you Dave?"

"Yes," Dave replies.

"I mean, you _really_ love Wilde, don't you?"

The waitress interrupts them then to take their orders and immediately after that Dave has given his, he excuses himself to use the restroom.

Dave doesn't need to pee, but he does need to get as far away from that table as possible, so when he dashes in to the restroom he moves over to the sink farthest away from the door and looks in to the mirror. His face is a bright red and it feels hot to the touch so he grabs a paper towel and wets it with cold water before rubbing it over his skin.

He tosses it in the trashcan and places his elbow on the white porcelain of the sink, lowers his head and closes his eyes.

"Goddamn it, you're an idiot," he hisses to himself as he brings his hands to his face and presses the heels of his palm in to his closed eyes.

"Fuck."

When he looks up, Chang's reflection is staring at him in the mirror.

"What the hell are you doing?" the reflection barks at him. Dave instantly flashes back to the fight in the locker room and his face grows warm again. He turns around and his back is pressed against the sink.

His voice catches in his throat. He knows Mike isn't asking about talking to himself or staring in the mirror or anything like that. He means what is _he_ doing here. At Breadstix. With them.

"I... I have no idea."

"You need to back the hell off Kurt," Chang continues, "you gave him enough shit in high school. I don't know what your game is, but it stops now."

Dave starts laughing then, large body-shaking laughs because it really is fucking hilarious "Game? Seriously, Chang? You think _I'm_ the one playing games here?"

"In case you hadn't noticed," he continues, raising his voice slightly, "we're not teenagers anymore, and this isn't McKinley. I'm not going to be shoving you today, but you need to seriously back the fuck off right now." Dave moves so that Chang isn't poised so threateningly over him; he starts walking to the door, but Chang grabs on to his arms and pulls him back. Dave wrenches away from his arm and turns to yell at him, but the

"Who the hell do you think you are, Karofsky? And how the hell did you get his scarf?"

"He left it in my room, Mike," Dave spits back. And yes, it is totally worth the comically shocked reaction that flashes over the other man's face. He had actually had a bit of a crush on Mike freshman year, but that had been quickly replaced with his fascination with Kurt. "After what I thought was something that could maybe pass for a date, or at least a slightly enjoyable night. I've been a lot of things, but I've never been so cruel to people I've fucked."

"You're gay?"

"No, I just have sex with dudes for fun. Of course I'm fucking gay."

"Oh. Wow." Chang's eyebrows rise and he bites his bottom lip; Dave remembers why he had a crush on him.

"What?"

"Um, nothing. High school just totally makes sense now."

Dave sighs.

Mike and Dave return to the table not too long after that and Dave is mostly silent while he pretend a to be interested in the conversation. He ignores the occasional barb Kurt tosses his way and the annoyed glares that the rest of the table, minus Finn and Mike (and Brittany who is too busy coloring the kid's menu to pay him any mind,) are throwing his way

But, after what Dave counts as the sixth snide remark from Kurt since returning to the bathroom, Dave slams his hand down on the table causing everyone to jump and the plates and silverware to rattle.

"You are a cunt," he hisses and releases the napkin in his hand so it stays on the table, "Enjoy punishing me for shit I did when I was sixteen."

He stands up and throws down a twenty for the food he ordered that still hasn't arrived and politely nods to the other people at the table.

"I hope you all have a wonderful evening."

He looks over at Kurt.

"I.. I _still_ can't believe I actually liked you. If you ever fucking grow up, give me a call." He turns then and leaves the building and goes out to the cold November air.

He strides across the parking lot and by the time he makes it to his car his hands are still shaking. Fumbling with his keys he finally manages to unlock the door and slide in to the driver's seat. He slams the door shut and drops his keys in the center console when he's still too shaky to slip it in to the ignition.

"Fuck," he grumbles under his breath and slams his open palms against the steering wheel, "fuckfuck_fuck_." Leaning his head back he stares up at the ceiling of the roof of his car and rubs his hands over his face, presses his palm against his face as he lets out a groan.

Digging his hand in to the pocket of his jacket he pulls out his cellphone and flicks through his contact list, thinks about calling Azimio or one of the other boys who never left Lima and getting trashed at a bar. But, for some reason he can't quite explain the thought of doing that makes him even angrier and he ends up throwing the phone down on to the passenger's seat. It bounces off and slams up against the glove compartment before landing on the floor.

He takes a few deep breaths before grabbing his keys out of the console and starts the car and drives back home.

It's not even 8:45 when he gets back and no one else is home. He turns on the old XBOX to play HALO live and scream at other players over the headset; it makes him feel a little better. His account name is still "The_Fury" which is a little bit embarrassing as a relic of his teenage years, but he's mostly stopped yelling' You want a piece of the Fury?' at the other players so at least he's improved in that regard. He'd decided years ago speaking in third person was never intimidating.

The first game passes rather uneventfully. He and some other guy on the red team grab a Warthog and Dave spends a good portion of the time driving. The second game has some interesting people on headsets. One guy keeps quoting the Art of War and another one is singing the Pokemon theme song over and over again. Surprisingly enough, this is not the weirdest thing Dave has heard on XBOX life.

On his third game he finds the respawn spot for the other team and lobs a series of grenades which garners him seven kills in under two minutes.

"You're a fag," one of the other players hisses after Dave delivers an impressive headshot from a concealed portion of the map. He has the highest kill count so far and doesn't seem to be slowing down any time soon.

"Yeah, I'm gay," Dave replies smoothly as his moves his character to a different area of cover before taking aim at the respawned 'BladeKillerXx', "And This is usually when I'd invite you to feel free to suck my cock, oh wait... you can't." He shoots; he kills. "Because you're _dead_, bitch. How does that feel?"

When the other guy respawns a few seconds later Dave takes him out again, and moves on to shooting other members of the rival blue team, though if he smashes down the buttons on his controls a little more forcefully whenever he aims at BladeKillerXx, he wouldn't admit it.

"You guys fucking suck," the other player complains a few minutes later, "this game is bullshit. You guys are hacking."

"Oh, you gonna rage quit you fucking pussy? Can't handle a fairy kicking your ass?" Dave finds himself smirking a little when some other voices join in with him. Maybe he should feel bad, there's a real person behind the player on the other side of the screen, but he doesn't. It's just part of playing the game.

When Dave finishes that round, he ends up being counted as MVP and feels oddly accomplished. He has a private message sent to him from BladekillerXx calling him 'a little bichface.' Dave sends him a reply saying at least he knows how to spell bitch. After that he signs off and head toward the kitchen.

Grabbing the phone off the hook he flicks through the take out menus until he finds a delivery place he remembers doesn't suck and orders himself a pizza. He is told it'll be ready in about forty five minutes and the total is 18.47. While he returns to the couch he strips down to his boxers and pulls off the peacoat, sweatshirt and sweater he'd thrown on for the stupid not-date at Breadstix. He drops them on the floor of his room near his duffelbag. It is warm enough in his house he doesn't need to put anything else on, but he grabs a blanket off of his bed and wraps himself in it anyway. Once he returns to the couch he switches over to a single player zombie game and starts where he left off when he last played, maybe three years ago; he can barely remember what the storyline of the game is supposed to be.

Fifteen minutes later there is a knock on the door and Dave pauses his game as a zombie launches towards him and opens the door, money in hand for the pizza. He places his left arm against the doorframe and leans against it, looking down at Kurt, his face mostly unreadable. The money is still held loosely in his right hand.

"Well, you're not the pizza delivery man. What do you want, Hummel?" Dave growls out.

"You're right," Kurt replies. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his bright turquoise trenchcoat.

Dave blinks and doesn't respond.

"I," Kurt continues a little haltingly, "I was being a bitch. And I'm sorry."

"Yeah, what finally clued you in?" It's about then that Dave realizes he's in his boxers and a t-shirt which would have been embarrassing enough with the pizza guy, but it's so much worse with Kurt standing there staring at him, so he crosses his arms over his chest like it'll somehow give him more cover.

"Look, I'm having trouble understanding how much you've actually changed, okay? You shoved me in to lockers, you threatened to _kill_ me, not to mention that creepy thing with the cake topper, can you really blame me?"

"No," Dave relents after a long second, "but you could at least have given me a second chance. I was sixteen, Kurt. You can't stand there and tell me you didn't do shit you regret back then."

Kurt looks down at his shoes for a second and then back up at Dave, his lips set in a small frown.

"Like I said, I was a bitch. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you were. We done here?"

"Do you want to be?"

Dave doesn't say anything and Kurt takes a step toward Dave and then another until his shoes are brushing up against Dave's toes; his hands are still in his pockets, Dave's are still folded across his chest.

"Do you want to be?" Kurt repeats again. With his boots on and Dave's shoes off Kurt is actually close to an inch and a half taller than Dave and Dave raises his eyebrows just a hint in response before he steps back to allow Kurt the room to walk. He closes and locks the door behind him.

"I ordered a pizza." Dave adds, "should be here in a half hour."

Kurt removes his jacket and places it on the arm of the couch as he takes a seat, "Why is there a zombie on your TV?"

"Oh, I was playing a videogame." Dave responds moving quickly to the TV and pressing the off button and then turning off his XBOX.

"I haven't played video games since I was eight and my Duck Hunt controller broke."

Dave plops down next to Kurt; their knees touch.

"I've got my old Nintendo," Dave confides leaning a little closer towards Kurt to tell him; Kurt doesn't pull away. "We bought it off my old neighbor before they moved when I was ten. I could hook it up if you want."

Kurt is looking at Dave like he's a little crazy and a little brilliant and a little dumb.

"Really?"

"Yeah, if you want. but I left something in the car," Dave replies, "give me a minute." Dave moves in to the garage and unlocks the passenger side door of his car. After retrieving his phone from the floor, Dave texts his dad and asks him when he'll be home. He replies that they went to see his little cousin's game tomorrow morning so they'll be staying with Dave's uncle that night and be back tomorrow afternoon.

When he comes back to the couch Kurt has kicked off his shoes and is sitting with one leg crossed over the other and his hands in his lap. Dave has pulled on a pair of jeans.

He hooks up the ancient video game console and prays it still works. Amazingly enough, it does and when Kurt comes over a little hesitatingly and takes the bright orange and white gun-shaped controller from Dave, he can't help but smile. Dave moves to the kitchen to grab himself a beer from the fridge and calls out to ask Kurt if he wants anything to drink. He asks for water so Dave pulls down a glass from the cupboard and fills it with the water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge. When he returns to the living room he places the glass on the coffee table. Kurt is on the second level already.

"My dad and I played together on his old console," Kurt explains as he hits duck after duck, "it was the manliest activity I was capable of." Dave thinks he sees Kurt roll his eyes a little.

"I always tried to shoot the damn dog," Dave admits, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor with a beer in his hand.

"He is kind of a dick, isn't he?" Kurt observes as he offers the controller to Dave, "your turn?"

Dave shrugs and finishes his beer before he takes it. He misses the first three birds before he gets used to the controller again and hits the rest.

The pizza comes a half hour later and when Dave opens it to reveal it's covered in pepperoni, pineapple, jalapeno and minced garlic, Kurt makes a face.

"It's delicious," Dave replies pulling a piece off for Kurt and sliding it on a plate, "trust me."

"Trust you?" Kurt laughs and Dave isn't sure if it's supposed to be funny, but he grins a little anyway.

"This is not awful," Kurt responds slowly after taking a small hesitant bite, "taste-wise at least. Calorie-wise it is probably going to kill me."

Dave shrugs as he shoves another slice in his mouth, "Whatever, I'm already chubby."

Kurt rolls his eyes and sets down the pizza slice and looks at the pizza box, "isn't this an extra large?"

He blushes a little before he responds, "I'm sort of used to ordering for the whole team, not just myself."

"Do they know?" Kurt asks his face getting suddenly serious as he crosses his arms over his thin chest.

"Know what?"

"That you're gay."

"Yeah, I told them like a year and a half ago. It's not really a big secret anymore."

"What happened to you?"

Dave shrugs, looks down at the table and then directly at Kurt, "I grew up."

"Your parents? Did you tell them yet?"

Dave frowns, "No. I want to wait until after I've graduated. I," he pauses for a second and taps his left hand on the table licks his bottom lip, "I still don't know how they'll react. Hate to get cut off or something like that. Between hockey and class I wouldn't have time to get a job. And I need hockey for tuition."

Kurt nods and finishes his slice of pizza.

They end up going back to the living room and watching TV and pretty soon the TV isn't even on anymore and they're just talking. Dave has his arm slung across the back of the couch and Kurt has turned inward just a hint so he's talking more directly at him.

Kurt does it this time, places a hand on Dave's face and kisses him softly. Dave takes a second to respond but pretty soon Kurt is on his back and Dave is kissing his neck. Kurt pulls off Dave's shirt and when Dave tries to take off Kurt's he has his hands batted away and Kurt does it himself.

"You nearly ruined my shirt last time," Kurt replies as he places his shirt on the end of the couch before kissing him again.

"Your bed," Kurt groans as he presses himself up against Dave's thigh, his left hand scratching his nails down Dave's broad back

"Fuck," Dave gasps as Kurt bites his neck.

"Yes, David, that is kind of the idea."

"No. Fuck, I.. I'm pretty sure I don't have any condoms."

"Are you serious?" Kurt sits up and does what Dave can only describe as glare.

"I wasn't exactly coming home thinking I was going to get laid or anything."

"What kind of man doesn't have condoms?"

"Shut up. I can run to the store and get some if we need them."

"Well, we're certainly not fucking if you don't."

Dave sits up and grabs his shirt off of the floor and slides it on before rebuttoning his jeans.

"I know that. I'm not an idiot." He grabs his coat from his room and slides on his shoes without any socks on. He hates that almost as much as he hates wet socks, but he has a mission now.

"You coming?" Dave asks as he moves towards the garage, "Or you want to hang out here?"

Kurt slides on his boots and his shirt; "Sure," he says as he grabs his trenchcoat, "I'll come."

Dave rolls through two stop signs and speeds through a yellow light as it's about to turn red on his way to the nearest store. He parks as close as he can to the entrance and hops out of his car, not bothering to lock it behind him. There really isn't anything inside worth stealing.

It's raining softly and the little bit of snow on the sidewalk and in the parking lot is turning in to mush. He wipes his feet on the mat near the door to avoid slipping on the linoleum floor as the enter; it's dark brown and white checked. When he was little one of the two colors used to be lava and he had to hop around to avoid burning his feet off. Sometimes he even did it as a teenager when his mom sent him out on errands. He isn't doing it right now, but his feet seem to be automatically moving towards the white tiles.

"It's almost like you're afraid to be seen with me," Kurt quips as he strides behind Dave; they make their way towards the hygiene section of the store weaving through aisles and avoiding knocking over other patrons.

"Yeah, of course that's it. Because clearly it's not like I want to hurry up so we can get back to my place and fuck." He gets a double take from an old lady and smiles at her broadly before they reach the section of the aisles filled with condoms Dave stops and stares.

"Which ones you want?" he asks as he looks over the variety of brands that line the shelves in a spectrum of colors.

"Just get what you normally do." Dave stares for a few seconds longer before he grabs a familiar looking box; he studies it a little more carefully out of the corner of his eyes and recognizes it as the brand he steals from his roommate and starts like he's ready to go to the cashier.

"You don't have any lube at your house either, right?"

Dave stops moving and feels himself blushing a little bit, but manages to compose himself to turn back to the wall and grab a bottle. The whole sex thing is still pretty new to him, new enough to make him feel like a teenager again when it gets brought outside the bedroom.

On the quick walk back to register they pass by the candy aisles and Dave slows before grabbing a pack of sour punch straws.

"You're getting candy?" Kurt asks with a raised eyebrow.

"You want some?"

Kurt opens his mouth like he's going to call Dave an idiot or something, but instead closes it and grabs a chocolate bar. As they walk Dave nudges Kurt with his shoulder and grins; Kurt doesn't look like he wants to strangle him.

When they reach the check out, Dave pays with his credit card and avoids any unnecessary eye contact with the pretty blond high school girl who rings them up.

On the way back to his house Dave rolls through three stop signs and speeds through a yellow light. It's totally, completely and utterly worth it.

They make it to Dave's couch before Kurt pulls him down and starts to kiss him. Dave kicks off his shoes and a few seconds later Kurt is shoving off Dave's coat and pulling up his shirt.

"You sure you still want to do this?" Dave asks, a hand already slid under the other man's shirt and placed on his lower back. The bright turquoise trenchcoat is thrown over the back of the couch and Kurt doesn't seem to mind.

"Shut up," Kurt groans out as he kisses Dave's neck and starts to undo the buttons on the front of Dave's jeans.

That's all Dave needs.

Positioning on the couch is kind of awkward and they end up fucking on the floor. Dave develops a bit of rugburn on his elbow. After Dave gives Kurt a blowjob they move in to Dave's room.

* * *

After a second round Kurt is lying in his back breathing heavily.

"Your ceiling is glowing."

"Oh, yeah," Dave responds with a sheepish grin as he glances up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that are faintly shining over them, "those things are hard to get off." Kurt seems to accept this answer.

"Why didn't you come back?" Kurt asks for the second time that night. He turns on his side, propped up by his elbow. The sheets are loosely draped over his hip and Dave can't get over how beautiful his body is.

"What?" Dave knows what he means, he is hoping Kurt will change the subject.

"To McKinley, why didn't you come back?"

Dave's arms are folded behind his head and he traces mental constellations in the stars, "You didn't want me to, and I had kind of already fucked everything up."

"But you didn't care what I thought," Kurt counters and Dave laughs and Kurt narrows his eyes, "what? What is so funny?"

"I've liked you since I was _twelve_, of course I cared what you thought."

"I-" Kurt begins and sighs, "I should get going. Don't want to accidentally out you to your parents." Dave catches him by the wrist and tugs him back to the bed; Kurt offers little resistance.

"You can stay, if you want. No one is coming home until tomorrow night." Kurt tugs the sheet up over his chest.

"Your room is too cold," Kurt complains so Dave pulls the comforter over Kurt and pulls the other man back against his chest.

"Shut up," he mumbles into the back of Kurt's neck before falling asleep.

Kurt is still there when Dave wakes up, which is certainly an improvement over last time. But it's more than a little obvious Kurt is trying to sneak out of the bed.

Dave sits up quickly and rubs his eyes, his hair is sticking up on one half and the other half is smashed down. He's certain he has morning breath.

"Do you want to get breakfast?" Dave asks hoping he doesn't sound like an idiot.

"Sure," Kurt responds slowly and eases himself back down in to the bed.

"I'm pretty good at making French toast," Dave offers as he rubs at his eyes again and yawns, "or we can go out somewhere too if you don't trust my cooking."

"I want waffles," Kurt replies as he sits up beside Dave and begins to stretch.

"Pretty sure our waffle maker broke like two years ago."

"Then we'll just have to go out, won't we?" Dave is about to respond when Kurt slides out of bed, still naked, and moves towards Dave's doorway. He loses his voice.

"Is that your shower?" Kurt asks indicating with his head. Dave nods and it takes him a few moments to get over the shock of a naked Kurt waltzing down his hallway to his bathroom and when he does he realizes Kurt left the bathroom door wide open. Dave gets his bearings pretty quickly after that.

He grabs two towels from the hall closet and walks right in to the bathroom, hangs the fresh towels up, drops his boxers on the floor and climbs in the shower behind Kurt. Dave ends up getting on his knees and sucking Kurt off in the shower. It's not quite as hot as Dave would have imagined. The water running over his face makes it a little difficult to breathe through his nose and the droplets sting his eyes. His knees are starting to get unbelievably sore when Kurt finally comes.

Kurt repays him by criticizing Dave for washing his hair wrong. He smacks away Dave's hand and begins to work in the shampoo himself rubbing his thumbs down Dave's neck and making him groan out. Dave still can't get over how tall Kurt has grown since highschool.

Kurt puts him out of his misery by giving him a quick handjob before he finishes in the shower.

They end up taking their own cars to breakfast where Kurt orders Belgian waffles with fruit and splashes on some blackberry syrup. Dave get himself bacon, hashbrowns, and eggs. The conversation isn't nearly as awkward as Dave would have expected; Dave listens intently as Kurt talks about school and future plans and the play he's cast in right now. Kurt seems feign interest as Dave talks about hockey, but genuinely looks like he gives a damn when he brings up some of his English classes.

When the waitress comes with the bill Dave pulls out his wallet before Kurt can and pays for it. After he's signed and tipped and they're about to head out Dave flicks over his copy of the receipt and scribbles on the back before he hands it to Kurt.

"This is my number," Dave explains, "I get it if this was just another one time thing, but if you ever want to hang out when we go back, just give me a call."

Kurt glances down at the number with a look on his face that Dave can't place before he slides it in to the pocket of his trenchcoat and nods.


	4. Chapter 4

After Dave returns to his house he plays some more XBOX. When his parents come home and ask him what he's been up to he replies with a grunted, "Nothing" and feels like he's fifteen again.

He goes out to dinner with them and then after he packs up he gets a ride to the airport and flies back to school.

Two weeks go by and Dave doesn't hear anything, it's a little disappointing, but after the fourth day he stopped constantly checking his phone to see if he had somehow not noticed a call coming through and he moves on. Sort of. Well, he tells himself to anyway.

It is during the middle of a Super Mario Smash Brothers tournament with the team when his phone starts buzzing wildly on the coffee table with the 419 area code associated with Lima lighting up the small screen. He jumps off the couch letting his controller fall to the ground. He'd been doing the best in his bracket and pretty sure he could win the hundred dollar prize.

"Uh, hello?"

"Dave?"

"Yeah," some of the team are staring at him. Others are still focused on the fight on the screen.

"Do you want us to pause or-…" one of the other players asks and Dave waves his free hand in a noncommittal manner before bringing it up to his ear to block out some of the noise.

"It's Kurt."

"Uh, yeah. I guessed."

"Do you want to-" Dave can't hear him over the sound of his teammates screaming about the match.

"Wait one second, sorry- GUYS. SHUT THE FUCK UP."

Dave continues, "Um, sorry, what did you say?"

"Am I interrupting you?"

"No, not at all."

"GET SOME KAROFSKY,"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, CLYDE. Sorry, what was that again?"

"Do you want to get coffee with me?"

"Yeah, no. Yeah, I'd love to. That'd be great uum. When? When would you want to do that?"

"I'm at rehearsals right now-"

"WOOO! DAVE AND WHATSHIS FACE SITTING IN A TREE F-U-C-K-I-"

"Yeah," Dave responds, "Importance of Being Earnest. I remember." And then he pulls the phone away from his face to scream, "GOD DAMN IT CLYDE. SHUT UP."

"Right," Kurt drawls back, "so I have rehearsals starting at five most days."

"Until when?"

"Usually we finish up around nine, kind of late for coffee."

"I don't mind," Dave replies a little too eagerly as he moves out of the room and sprints up the stairs to his room, "I have practice from three to five and classes most weekdays and games on Saturdays… I could meet you today, if you want. I mean, after your rehearsal is over." Dave pinches the bridge of his nose and is certain he sounds like some sort of stalker.

"Sounded like you were with people," Kurt replies smoothly and Dave can't determine if there is any sort of emotion behind that or not.

"Oh, just some teammates. We were playing video games. It's lame, really." He has to step over piles of clothing, his and his roommate's, to be able to pace the room.

"Right," Kurt drags out the word a few syllables past what is normal and pauses before he continues, "I'm free after nine if you want to go out for drinks."

"Sounds good," Dave answers and feels like an idiot. Couldn't he think of anything better to say?

Kurt gives him the address and Dave writes it down on the back of a notecard that also has the dates of the reign of King Louis XIV scribbled on it. After he hangs up he checks the time on his cellphone and realizes he has another two and a half hours before he needs to meet him and decides to get ready now anyway.

Dave comes back downstairs a while later, showered and changed. His spot is now filled on the good couch, but the futon has a spot between the goalie and Dave's roommate, so he comes up behind and climbs over the back of the furniture to take a seat.

"Dude," his roommate tells him sincerely as he places a hand firmly on Dave's shoulder, "you died."

"Yeah," Dave responds dryly and watches the final showdown of the tournament.

The rather shy left forward, Sean, ends up winning the tournament by barely beating out Clyde, which Dave is entirely okay with.

Dave is dressed pretty well, or at least he likes to think he's dressed pretty well (which means he's wearing something more than workout pants and a t-shirt) and the team picks up on it almost instantly.

"Gonna go meet your boooyfriend?" Clyde asks drawling out the last word well past the normal syllable threshold.

"Shut up you fucking ginger," Dave bites, which is a little ridiculous because Dave still isn't sure when it became an insult to be redheaded and freckled, but that's the insult the team throws at Clyde most often.

"Oh man, he is!" Someone else shouts, and the guys are all grinning and punching him in the shoulder. Some are making obscene gestures while other ones are just kind of smirking.

"He's not my boyfriend," Dave snaps back defensively. And with the flush coming over his face he starts to feel a bit bad about joining in with the team in mocking Sean a week ago for having a crush on some chick in his psychology section.

"But you want him to be," Dave's roommate pipes up, which is a bad move on his part because tomorrow morning one half of all his sock pairs will be missing.

"You guys suck," he growls back as he stands up and starts making his way out of the livingroom but it's halfhearted at best because this is, well, it's his family. It's like twenty-something obnoxious brothers and cousins who just want to embarrass the shit out of him whenever possible.

Before he can finish making his way out of the room Clyde stops him by placing a hand on his shoulder, Dave turns his head back to look at him.

"Dave," Clyde begins seriously, giving Dave's shoulder a little squeeze with his freckled hand, "get some. Make us proud."

"I am going to straight-up murder all of you in your sleep," Dave replies and manages to deliver the line entirely straight-faced with only the slightly lift of his eyebrows giving him away. The team responds by laughing and starting up a game of Call of Duty, but Dave is smirking a bit as he makes his way out of the house.

* * *

Dave walks to the address Kurt gave him because he doesn't feel like calling a cab and because if he did he'd show up way too early. As it turns out, he still shows up about ten minutes before he needs to and instead of standing outside in the snow he moves inside the building.

A door to the theater greets Dave as he moves in. It's wide open and Dave can hear voices coming through it. He can't stop himself from wandering over and watching from the doorway and he is instantly reminded of the embarrassing amount of times he stood near the choir room after school just to catch a hint of Kurt's voice drifting through the empty hallways.

It looks like they're working on the blocking for a scene that Dave can't place off of the top of his head even though some of the lines they're reading from their scripts sound really really familiar. The tech crew is scurrying around in all black adjusting parts of the set. Dave doesn't want to interfere so he moves over a few seats and makes himself comfortable in the back row. They seem to be working on setting some of the lighting because the intensity keeps shifting. About twenty seconds later he hears. A window behind him has opened and a guy with what Dave presumes is an ironic mustache shoves his head through the small window.

"This is a closed rehearsal."

Dave tries not to smirk when he's reminded of the door guard in the Wizard of Oz. Nobody gets in to see the Wizard. Not nobody. Not no how.

"I'm just waiting for my friend," Dave replies in a hushed tone because he really doesn't want to make a big deal about this. In fact he'll get up and move back quietly to the lobby area, but before he can offer the the guy is already yelling across the large theater to the stage.

"HEY," he calls out, "HEY. SANDY! Is this yours?"

A brown-haired girl shakes her head and replies with quick, "Nope."

"Brittany? What about you? He yours?" the other girl shakes her head without even looking up from her script.

Dave feels like they've moved the spotlight on to him and he shrinks down in to his chair.

"I can just wait outside-" Dave begins to offer, but the mustachioed light tech continues.

"Bryce, is this yours?"

A guy with slicked back brown gives him a once-over before replying with a flippant, "No."

"Kurt? He yours?"

"Yes," Kurt replies after an awkwardly long pause, "he's mine."

"Alright," the tech replies before slamming close the window and presumably getting back to real work.

Dave offers up a half-smile and a lazy wave, but he's far enough away from the stage that Kurt's face is a little blurry and he's glad about that. He pulls up his phone and pretends that there is something there to keep him occupied, but after fifteen minutes he gets bored and looks up. They're still working on the same scene they were when he walked in, but now the other guy keeps resting his hand on Kurt's shoulder whenever possible and sitting closer to him than necessary. Dave is pretty sure that adds absolutely nothing to the actual story.

He looks down to his phone and texts his roommate to ask him how Call of Duty is going and quickly gets in to a text conversation about which weapon is better and which storyline out of all the COD games was best. Time passes much quicker that way.

"Karofsky!" Kurt calls out and Dave lifts his head instantly to see him standing on the stage, lit up by the adjusted lighting and looking absolutely flawless.

"Yeah?" Dave replies turning his phone off and shoving it into the front pocket of his jeans, still sitting in the seat.

"You ready?"

"Yeah, sure, if you are." Dave stands up and pulls his phone out of his front pocket and moves to slide it in to his back pocket but decides instead it'd be better to put it in his coat pocket so he doesn't have to worry about sitting down on it. He slides his hands in to his pocket after that and moves down the aisles closer toward the stage.

Kurt grabs a coat from off of the onstage couch and slides it on. The guy with the slicked back hair comes over and gives Kurt a hug that last a bit longer than a normal friendly hug between to friends should. The fact the guy is looking directly into Dave's face while he does it probably doesn't help his case.

Dave bites his lower lip as he distinctly remembers seeing that guy before. At the bar. With Kurt.

"That your boyfriend or something, Kurt?" Dave ask once they're outside and clearly out of ear shot. He raises an eyebrow and his jaw hurts when he clenches it. He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth. His hands, still shoved in the pockets of his coat, form fists.

"Bryce? No, we hung out for a while but nothing really happened."

"But you wanted it to, right?"

"I don't know," Kurt replies, his voice sounding a little sharp, "maybe."

"Is that why you went home with me? The first nigh?t" Kurt doesn't doesn't say anything either way, doesn't even deem that worthy of a verbal response, and it kind of, well he doesn't want to sound cliche, but it kind of breaks Dave's heart.

It's the reason, Dave is certain of it. And even though it is, Dave still follows Kurt home because Dave can't help himself, not around Kurt. So, he does just that, follows Kurt back to his apartment which is decorated in a way that looks like a real house instead of like a dorm room or a frat, like Dave's place does. The furniture doesn't look brand new, but it also doesn't look like they pulled it off of the street corner. It looks like they've thought carefully about what matches and decorated accordingly.

Kurt offers to take Dave's coat, and when Dave begins to protest a bit, because he's wearing his hockey sweatshirt underneath the jacket over his nice shirt , Kurt gives him a look and Dave instantly does what he's told. He pulls off his jacket which Kurt hangs up on an actual coat hanger instead of tossing it on the back of a chair.

"I like the pictures," Dave mentions indicating a series of prints in gold-frames hung on one of the walls which is painted a deep, rich red.

"One of my roommates is an art history major. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah, a beer I guess." Kurt ducks into what Dave assumes must be the kitchen and he is left alone in the room. He starts to look more closely at the prints and tries to figure out if he knows the names of any of them. There's the one of a Roman lady that Dave recognizes as some style during the occupation of Egypt, but he can't remember the name of it. It was some sort of death painting though- they kind the made on the walls of tombs, and there was something about wax? Like it was mixed with the pigment maybe? Not that he can really remember the details.

He shifts on to the next one. And it's a naked blond woman lounged on a bed. It's some representation of Venus, Dave knows that much. Not De Milo that's the statue, but he isn't positive which one. Van Gogh's Starry Night, even Dave isn't uncultured enough to not recognize that one. And next to that one is one by the weird Spanish guy, Dali, The Hallucinogenic Bullfighter? Something like that.

"If you turn your head right and stare long enough the image shifts and you can see either the toreador or all of the separate images it's composed of: of the Venus de Milos and the flies," it's not Kurt's voice speaking to him, but it sounds friendly enough so Dave doesn't bother to turn around just yet, "and you can make out a dalmatian in the bottom left corner made from the rocks."

"Kinda like those little 3D posters we used to get as kids, huh?" Dave offers with a small smirk closing one eye and moving his head to the right and then to the left.

"Well, yes," the voice agrees reluctantly, "but y'know, painted by hand, about thirteen feet by ten. And like a thousand times more interesting and complex."

"It was a joke. A bad one. Dave Karofsky," he offers turning away from the image of the painting and extending a hand, "I'm a friend of Kurt's."

"Arthur" he replies, "and yes I've heard enough 'Art' Arthur art historian jokes to last me a lifetime, so don't start."

"Um, okay..." Dave replies awkwardly, "wasn't really planning on it."

"It was a joke," Arthur continues, "a bad one."

Dave can't help but a smirk a bit as the other man takes his hand and shakes it. The guy is a good four inches shorter than Dave is and possibly even thinner than Kurt. His skin is a little tanner and Dave never really good at guessing ethnicities so he isn't even able to try and place it other than 'something not-white.'

"You guys have a really nice place," Dave offers once he's dropped the other man's hand and has no idea what to say.

"Thanks, we try. Kris-Krishna, that is- and his girlfriend, Sam, brought in a lot of nice furniture. And Kurt decorated, of course."

"I basically live in a frat house. With twelve other hockey players."

"You play hockey?"

"Yeah. Defenseman, for-"

"-I noticed your sweatshirt. Must say, impressive." The guy bites his lower lip and raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah." Dave rubs at the back of his neck with the palm of his hand and laughs.

"Karofsky, you coming?" Kurt's voice cuts through the moment and pulls Dave's attention away.

"Yeah, of course. Um, nice to meet you," Dave indicates with a sharp nod of his head as he scurries after the other man.

When they enter Kurt's room it becomes clear to Dave that Kurt doesn't have a roommate in the same sense that Dave does, there's a single bed and no indication the room is shared. Apartment-mate is probably a weird thing to say in a normal conversation.

Kurt places the beer that Dave assumes must have been for him, still unopened, on his desk and begins to unbutton his shirt. Dave is still standing near the doorway and licks his bottom lip.

"Um, what are you?" Dave starts and trails off as more and more of Kurt's skin becomes visible.

"Oh, come on," Kurt replies with an eyebrow as he drops his shirt off revealing his pale flesh, "let's not pretend this is more than it is." Dave nods and strides across the room to capture Kurt's mouth with his.

The next morning, when Dave wakes Kurt is fully dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"We probably shouldn't do this again." Kurt states and Dave nods in feigned agreement before he grabs his stuff, dresses, and heads out. He buys himself a coffee on the walk back and sends a nod to a girl wearing a sparkly sequined dress and holding heels in her hand. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun that was clearly perfectly coifed curls the night before. What a way to kick off a Friday.

"You sleep with a jackass too?" Dave asks, leaning against the lamp post when they get stopped at the next light. She looks up at him shock clearly on her face. Shock and a hint of what Dave assumes is regret or shame.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. Do you want my coffee?" She eyes him suspiciously for a second before she takes it. They don't say anything else as they make their way back to their respective houses and part about six blocks down the street.

When he arrives back at the house everyone is still asleep and Dave is grateful for that. He takes a quick shower and collapses in bed and sleeps well into the afternoon. His roommate has to wake him for practice.

He and Kurt clearly agreed it shouldn't happen again, but it does. It happens again two nights later, and then again and again straight on through winter break back in Lima where Dave sucks off Kurt in the backseat of Kurt's fancy black car and Kurt sneaks Dave in through the window into his basement room at four in the morning.

And it just keeps happening as they come back for spring semester until one morning Dave is awakened by his pants being flung in his face. He scrambles up and rubs at his eyes, still a good two thirds asleep.

"Get out," Kurt states flatly arms crossed over his chest. He's fully dressed and standing near the edge of the bed. This isn't too different than the other mornings, except this time Dave doesn't do what he's told.

He doesn't move, doesn't say anything, just blinks in response.

"Get out," Kurt says again rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh as emphasis, like really, Dave is so dumb he has to say it again just so the neanderthal will understand him.

"Why are you still here?" Kurt spits out viciously arms thrown up in the air.

It takes a second for him to respond but when he tries his throat is dry and his voice cracks a bit, "I'll write in my diary tonight, a burnt child loves the fire."

"Dave Karofsky, in my bed half-naked and quoting Wilde," Kurt remarks drolly, "teenage me never could have seen this coming."

"Teenage me used to fantasize about this," Dave responds, "well, with less Wilde and less clothes."

"David-" Kurt sighs.

"I like it when you say my name," Dave interrupts and then Kurt raises an eyebrow and looks like he is about to say something snarky, so Dave clarifies, "In that, I like you acknowledging me as an actual person. Not in a kinky way." Though he did kind of dig it in the kinky way too, but that was beside the point.

Dave swung his legs out from under the covers and over the edge of the bed. He grabbed his pants from next to him and began to slide on his jeans.

"Get breakfast with me?" Dave asks as he stands up and buttons his pants. He finds the belt he used to tie up Kurt's hand to the headboard last night and slides it through his belt loops.

Kurt rolls his eyes and sighs, "Didn't you say you had practice this morning?"

"I'll skip it," Dave replies a little too quickly, "if you want to hang out. It's not a big deal."

Kurt looks back blankly in response.

"Look," Dave begins hovering near the doorway between Kurt's room and the living room. His voice drops down a bit in pitch, "either stop having sex with me or go see a damn movie with me or something. This is really getting old."

Kurt gives him a look (the one with the hand on the hip, the raised eyebrows and the slightly tilted head) before he closes his bedroom door in Dave's face without a word; it takes everything for him to not slam his fist against the door.

Instead he walks to the T-station and and hops on the train that will take him to campus so he can still make it to practice on time; it's the off season so it's just conditioning. When a kid quite clearly accidentally bumps into him while he exits the train David glares when he usually would have smiled.

He ends up being ten minutes late to practice, but they're just running laps around the field so the team is still stretching when he shows up in his shorts and team t-shirt. He joins the circle and tries to laugh at the stupid jokes they make and tries to join in about teasing Sean about how he's finally going to ask out the girl he's liked for a semester and a half.

When they start running Dave is grateful for the quiet and isolation, which of course means it doesn't last.

"'Sup, Davey?" Clyde asks through panted breaths as he falls into pace with Dave.

"Don't call me that," he replies dispassionately; he's focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and attempting to block out everything else.

"Well isn't someone in a prissy little mood. Who pissed in your Fruity Pebbles this morning?"

"I don't eat cereal. Or was that a gay joke?"

"Christ, Davey, it's just an expression."

"Well, it's a dumb one."

"Well, your face is a dumb one," Clyde counters.

Dave doesn't even dignify that with a response.

"What the hell is wrong with you today? You're acting like a dick." Clyde slows down for a second to spit on the grass near the track center and keep running.

"Dude, just back off."

"Is this about your boyfriend?"

"Not now, dude. Don't start."

"Come on, Davey. What's the matter? Did you two fight over whether to paint your little cottage in Vermont purple or mauve or eggplant?"

"Shut up," he growls and lowers his head slightly and increases his pace to lose the redhead behind him. Instead the other man speeds up to match his pace.

"Or was it eggshell, sand, or off-white?"

"Fuck off, Ginger. I'm not in the mood."

"You're not saying he's not your boyfriend. Did someone _finally_ make an honest man of you, Davey?"

And in quick moment Dave shoves his shoulder against Clyde's body and knocks the man on the ground.

Dave feels an odd sense of accomplishment as he watches him take a tumble on to the grass.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" Clyde calls out and Dave slows his pace, turns and walks over to where Clyde is sitting.

"Well, what's the matter Clyde? Why are you in such a bad mood?"

Clyde punches Dave really hard in the leg and shouts out "DUDE! Don't be a dick."

"Fuck," Dave hisses and jumps back from where Clyde is still sitting and rubs at what he's sure is a new bruise.

"Look, whatever you're upset about, I'm sorry but don't take it out on me."

"I told you to fuck off like three times-" Dave replies

"Five, actually." Clyde replies, brushing blades off grass off his freckled legs, "I get it man, you got dumped. I'm sorry it sucks, but it happens. Stop being a jackass."

Dave sighs, and offers a hand to Clyde to help him up.

"You can't get dumped if you were never dating."

"Oh, I'm sorry man." Clyde takes his hand and Dave pulls him up. There is a clover in Clyde's red hair and it makes Dave finally smile as he plucks it out and flicks it in Clyde's face.

"You look like a fucking leprechaun, dude."

"Fuck you, Davey."

"We cool?" Dave ask.

Clyde punches him really hard in the shoulder, then nods and says, "Yeah, we're cool."

The coach comes over to ask what the hell is going on and then calls them girls and tells them to stop having a tea party and get back to running. The rest of the practice isn't so awful.

* * *

Two days later Kurt calls him and Dave lets it almost go to voice mail but he answers it instead.

"Hey," Dave begins cautiously.

"Karofsky," Kurt responds sounding as unaffected as ever, there is music and chatting in the background he's out somewhere, at a bar or a restaurant "coming over tonight?"

"You agreeing to go on a real date with me?"

Kurt laughs, a delicate pretty laugh that could cut diamonds, "Don't be ridiculous."

"Okay." Dave ends the call and turns off his phone. He tosses it on his bed and goes to take a shower. After that he dresses and heads downstairs. His roommate is over at his girlfriend's house and it feels a little lonely up there by himself. But downstairs there are four of the guys camped out in front of the TV watching really badly dubbed kung fu movies. He heads to the kitchen before he settles in with them, and returns with two bags of popcorn before taking a seat on the edge of the good couch.

"Thanks, Davey," Sean replies automatically digging his hand into the bag. It's eleven thirty on a Friday night and Dave is actually totally okay with where he is. They go through another two movies and three bags of popcorn. It isn't until one o'clock that their movie gets disturbed with a loud banging on the house door.

"Who forgot their keys?" Dave asks with a heavy sigh as he moves to answer it.

"I got it," Sean stands up and moves to the door which he unlocks and opens. A flash of blue rushes past him and straight through the living room. Dave stands up uncertainly and a second later Kurt is standing in front of him poking him in the chest with a finger.

"You're ignoring my calls!"

"You're drunk."

"Well, you didn't answer your phone!" Kurt shoves his finger against his chest again.

"Did you get angry and try and spite drink at me or something?" He raises an eyebrow and Kurt's eyebrows furrow and his mouth screws up in concentration. He bites his bottom lip and pulls it between his teeth.

"No! Yes. Maybe. I don't know! Fuck you David."

"David, there," he replies shoving his hands into the backpockets of his jeans because he doesn't know what else to do with them, "I like that. Sounds like a real couple. A nice normal couple."

"Me and you could never be a nice normal couple."

"You and I," Dave corrects automatically, "I think we could. Stranger things have happened." The other guys are staring at him looking a little confused so Dave coaxes Kurt upstairs to his bedroom. "How did you even get here?" Dave asks when Kurt misses a step and stumbles. Dave catches him underneath his armpits and helps him back up again.

"I took a cab," Kurt mumbles.

"You going to puke?"

"No," he indignantly replies.

"You puked on Miss Pillsbury's shoes. Remember that?"

"Fuck you, I was sixteen." Kurt stumbles a bit so Dave sets him down on his bed and kneels down next to him. He slides off his boots and places them on the ground.

"Are we going to have sex?" Kurt asks.

"Yep, sure." Dave replies idly as he begins to unbutton Kurt's shirt which becomes more difficult when Kurt grabs Dave's hair and tugs at a curl.

"I like your hair longer," he slurs, "curls look good."

"Thanks," says as he pushes Kurt's hands away and finishes pulling off Kurt's fancy designer shirt and then his expensive pants, which are a bit more difficult because of how tight they are. He folds them both and places them on his desk. He locks the door to his room, kicks off his jeans, flicks off the light and slides into bed.

"Thought you said we're going to have sex," Kurt slurs, "I was looking forward to it. You're good in bed. I want to have sex."

"Yeah, in a minute just close your eyes." It takes less than a minute for Kurt's breathing to slow and grow heavy and he's lightly snoring a few moments later.

Dave falls asleep with Kurt curled on his chest and when he wakes up early the next morning he goes downstairs and grabs a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers which he brings back to his room. Placing them on the nightstand, he settles back in to bed with a book.

When Kurt wakes four chapters later Dave hands him the glass of water and offers him the painkillers.

"Thanks," he replies primly trying to surreptitiously wipe away some droll from the side of his mouth.

"You gonna get breakfast with me?"

"...Fine."

Dave smiles and Kurt narrows his eyes, but the hint of a grin is tugging at the edges of his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Dave's phone keeps buzzing about every thirty seconds starting from when they sit down at their booth and Dave flicks it on. Dave keeps pressing the button on the side to interrupt the vibrations.

"If you've got some other obligation, by all means," Kurt gestures grandly with his left hand and Dave rolls his eyes, places the phone screen up on the table as it buzzes again.

"Dude, they're ALL from you," Dave slides the phone across over to Kurt whose smug look flickers as another text message lights up the screen.

"I," Kurt begins slowly and doesn't continue.

"Seriously, is some of that stuff even English? This texts look like you just smashed your face against your little keyboard or something."

"You're a dick, Karofsky."

"No, if I were a dick I'd be sharing them with our waitress or posting them online and tagging you on Facebook. But I lo-ike you so I'm keeping it to myself despite the potential for hilarity." He catches himself, verbally, and looks down at his phone right after as it buzzes again and hopes that if Kurt caught the slight slip of the tongue, that he'll be kind enough to keep his mouth shut.

The waitress takes their orders and their menus quickly after that.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says almost too quietly for Dave to hear him.

"Wait, what?"

"I'm sorry. About getting drunk and yelling at you and sort of storming in to your house and making a scene in front of all of your friends."

Dave laughs, loudly and brightly, his cup of coffee held in his hand "It's fine Kurt. I knew what I was getting myself into when I took you home that first night."

"Did you, now?" Kurt asks right before licking a spoon he just used to stir three packets of sugar in to his coffee.

"No, not really," he amends with a large grin, "I had a vague idea."

Kurt gets up to go to the bathroom while they wait for their food and Dave takes the opportunity to listen to his voice mails. He gets through five of them before he spots Kurt on his way back to the table and ends the call.

The breakfast passes by fairly uneventfully and the conversation flows pretty easily. Dave gets Kurt to laugh a couple of times despite the fact he is still pretty clearly hungover. He tries to pay when the check comes, but Kurt slaps down some bills before Dave can even grab his wallet.

"You're like a ninja," Dave marvels, "I didn't see that coming at all."

"I suppose I owe you for the breakfast back in Lima."

"You don't owe me anything."

Kurt and Dave walk back to Kurt's apartment; Dave has kept his hands in his pockets to silence the occasional buzz of his cellphone. They're standing in front of the door, Kurt's hand on the lock, sighs and turns to Dave.

"I don't think it'd be a good idea if you came in."

"What? Why?"His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Kurt sighs again, rolls his eyes, "I really don't think this is what I'm looking for, David. It's not really you, it's just that I- What are you doing? Really? You're calling someone right now? What is so damn important that-"

Dave pulls his phone away from his ear, presses the button to put it on speaker and stares directly at Kurt.

"Why aren't you answering? Why aren't you calling me back?" Kurt's static voice complains through the small speaker, "Why aren't you calling me? You said you'd call. I want you to call-"

'You have thirteen more messages,' the tiny voice of Dave's voicemail declares and it switches back to Kurt's voice again, the words are a little more slurred, "DAVID. What the fuck is your problem you're supposed to come over and fuck me! I should be on my knees right now giving you a blowjob right now-"

"Oh dear lord," Kurt whispers placing a hand over his heart and then moving it over his mouth.

"I like you!" his staticy voice screams out, "Is that what you're fucking waiting for? Are you happy now?"

"Turn it off! For the love of all that is good in this world turn it off this second, David."

"Don't even get me started don the one about my chest hair," he remarks as he ends the call and slides his phone back in to the pocket of his coat, "I think it'd be banned in some countries on account of obscenity laws-"

"Fine! Fine. What do you want?" Kurt throws his arms up dramatically and Dave takes a half step back.

"I want you to give me a chance. A legitimate chance. That's the only thing I've ever wanted."

Kurt opens the door and motions Dave inside. He takes a seat on the couch and after Kurt has locked the door he comes over and perches on the arm.

"I'm not going to hit you," Dave complains, "and I only ever bite when you tell me to."

Kurt sighs again and moves to sit down next to him on the couch; Dave shifts over so their knees touch.

"So," Dave starts, doesn't know what he wants to say, and ends up trailing off.

"So," Kurt repeats and crosses one leg over the other.

"I get it, okay? I was awful to you in highschool. But we're not in highschool anymore. I like you, you like me. Well, I think you like me or else you wouldn't keep calling me back all the time, right? I mean, sure I'm easy and whatever but you could get plenty of other dudes who didn't spend half their junior year shoving you against lockers and calling you a girl."

"I-" Kurt starts and Dave puts up his hand.

"Just, let me finish, okay? I understand it. I knew this wouldn't be easy, but this is getting ridiculous. We've been sleeping together for like, six almost seven months. If you don't think you can get over that then we should probably stop this," he motions with his hand between them and frowns, "whatever it is. Because it can't be good for either of us."

Kurt looks over at him, his face unreadable, lips drawn tight.

"I," he stops, swallows, exhales and looks away from Kurt, "I can't keep sleeping with you if this isn't ever going anywhere. It's just... it's fucking with me too much." He laughs, rubs at his face and groans, "Christ. I sound like a fucking girl. Fuck. I should probably just leave now-"

Kurt leans his body against Dave, presses his head to the other man's shoulder, then turns on the TV. It takes a second, but Dave wraps his arm around Kurt's shoulder and Kurt snuggles closer in. Dave kicks off his shoes fifteen minutes in to a rerun of Seinfeld and places his feet on the coffee table.

"David, get your gigantic feet off my table."

"It's practically my table," Dave complains, "you made me carry it six blocks and up three flights of stairs for you."

"Oh shut up it's not that heavy."

"Oh, of course you say that I was the one taking all the weight. You were just barely there to guide it upstairs."  
Kurt smirks and pulls off his boots,sets them gently by the edge of the couch and puts his feet up on the table.

"I like your socks," Dave remarks and Kurt wiggles his toes in response.

"Cashmere. Argyle is one of my favorite patterns."

"Cotton," Dave responds and pokes at Kurt's foot with his own, "Maybe. Probably. I don't really know. I like the bold simplicity of plain white, and the convenience of buying them from a twelvepack at Walmart."

Kurt laughs and covers his mouth with his hand, "One day I'm going to take you shopping and clean you up. I'm sure you'd look halfway decent."

In response Dave lifts up the hand around Kurt's shoulder and rubs it against Kurt's hair making the other man flail. Kurt swats and Dave's hand but he's smiling and Dave can't help but laugh as he leans in and kisses him.

* * *

Dave goes to the opening night of Kurt's performance and sits about six rows from the front. Watching Kurt on stage, well... Dave can really only describe it as magic as cliché was it sounds. The other actors are good, of course, but whenever Kurt opens his mouth and speaks Dave has to mentally remind himself that it's Kurt so often it's not even weird watching as he kisses one of the women on stage. Well, it's a little weird only in that Dave never thought he'd see Kurt Hummel kiss a woman, but Dave's read the play before and knows exactly how it goes so he's not too surprised.

After the play ends the actors gather outside in the lobby to greet people. Dave brought flowers and then felt so goddamn dumb holding them that he shoved them in to the arms of a random woman passing by without saying anything and quickly walked over to where Kurt who was taking a picture with a few girls and signing programs.

Of course it's right when Kurt has turned to him and grinned at him that and she comes back with a confused, "Hi, I think you gave these to me on accident?" and places the flowers back in Dave's arms.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at Dave as he signs another program and shakes a woman's hand.

"You got me lilies, David?" His voice is clear and cuts straight over the idle chatter.

"Shut up," Dave replies and he holds the flowers upside down by their stems and offers them toward Kurt.

"Don't hold them like that!" Kurt cries out as he grabs them , "That's actually really sweet. How did you know they were my favorite?"

"You said it once," Dave mumbles staring down at his shoes, feeling like child.

"Sometimes," Kurt begins delicately with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "Sometimes you're not half bad."

Dave can't keep himself from grinning.

"Did you want to come out with me? The cast is going out for drinks."

"Um, you sure you want me?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Yeah!" he replies a little too enthusiastically, "Yes. Sure. I'd really like that."

Once the crowd has filed out Kurt grabs Dave by his hand and leads him back stage.

"Where are we going?" Dave keeps glancing over his shoulder like he's done something wrong.

"I need to change. Did you think I'd really go out drinking wearing this costume?" Dave opens his mouth to speak and Kurt catches it, narrows his eyes, and interrupts him, "No. Don't answer that."

"It's a suit," Dave complains, "I mean, sure it's a bit flamboyant and like what, 19th century? But that's not the most outlandish thing I've seen you in."

"And what would that have been?" Kurt ask as he begins to slip out of his costume and. Dave has seen Kurt naked plenty of times but feels this odd tug in his chest while he watches him strip down to his underwear in the brightly lit dressing room.

"I don't really know. You wore a skirt once I think..."

Kurt takes a seat in front of a mirror and starts removing his stage makeup and doing some other stuff that Dave really doesn't understand involving three or four different types of lotions, so Dave just sighs and wanders around the dressing room for about five minutes before he gets bored with that and sits down again; he occupies his time by staring at the reflection of Kurt. Dave sees the guy he mentally dubbed as Ironic Mustache Man approach in the mirror. He looks at Dave then back at Kurt and doesn't say anything though he has a slight sneer in his lip that makes Dave think he wants to. Dave turns around in the chair and tilts his head just a hint to the right and looks up at him.

"Do you have an ironic tattoo?"

"What?" He adjusts his black frame glasses and his frown deepens.

"Do you have some tattoo you got ironically? Like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or a Pokemon? Maybe My Little Pony?"

The guy frowns at Dave and tugs down on the sleeve of his long-sleeved black shirt.

"Or did you get one and it's in a place that's so obscure I'll never have heard of it?

"David," Kurt chastises, "play nice."

Dave shrug, turns back to face the mirror, and watches a smirking Kurt finish with his intense skin care regimen. He zones out while the guy talks to Kurt about technical stuff and it isn't until Kurt places a hand on Dave's shoulder and catches his attention that he stops daydreaming.

"You ready?"

"Yep." Dave stands up and straightens his coat; Kurt takes his arm and leads the way.

The bar is pretty crowded and usually Dave would complain, but Kurt keeps smiling at him and laughing and leaning over to whisper jokes in his ear. He knows what Kurt drinks so he orders it at the bar and brings it back to the crowded table and places it in front of him and squeezes in next to him. Kurt nudges him with his shoulder and smiles as he takes a sip.

"Kurt! You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend," one of the actresses calls out across the table, "Where did you two meet?"

"Oh, I'm not-" Dave starts, but Kurt's already started talking over him so Dave shuts up.

"We're both from Lima."

"High school sweethearts?" the other girl asked and Kurt laughs and looks at Dave with a lopsided smile.

"Hardly, but he's not half-bad now."

Throughout the rest of the night Kurt holds Dave's hand under the table and looks at him often out of the corner of his eye with a sly grin on his lips.

When the lilies start drooping and loosing petals about two weeks later Dave goes out to the florist down the street from Kurt's apartment and buys some more.

Apparently every month Kurt and his roommates- Arthur, Kris, and Kris's girlfriend Sam- have movie marathons at their apartment and invite over anywhere between five to ten people, Kurt used to just call Dave over after they had finished and fuck him, but he gets legitimately invited and, well, it shouldn't be a big deal at all, but he feels like he's accomplished something huge.

Well, he feels like that until Kurt introduces him to some of his friends as 'His boyfriend, David.'

That's when Dave feels like he's accomplished something enormous.

They settle in and watch John Hughes movies and about three quarters through Pretty in Pink one of the girls prompts who they'd pick as their love interest: Blane or Duckie. Dave is sitting on the floor on top of a throw pillow with his back against the couch. Kurt's legs are on either side of him.

It's a pretty standard about, sixty percent favor Duckie and the other ones like Blane. Kurt says he would have picked Duckie if they had gone with the original casting choice of Robert Downy Jr., but as It stands Jon Cryer is too gay for even him.

When it's reached Dave's turn he finishes taking a sip from his beer- which he's certain they only keep stocked because he visits so often (otherwise all they would have would be wine) and says "Steff."

They all turn and look at him. They TV continues to play the movie, now forgotten in the background.

"You can't pick him, Dave," Arthur complains, "He's the antagonist."

"Only because we're watching it from Molly Ringwald's point of view. If we were following James Spader around, which we probably should have because he was fucking hot and a fantastic actor, he'd be an interesting and flawed anti-hero."

"David," Kurt says swatting him gently on the shoulder, "Explain."

"Just think of the character. He's suave, charming, and just totally drowning emotionally. His parents are like, never there. So he throws these ridiculous parties just to get their attention because any attention is good attention. He smokes and drinks way too much and honestly probably doesn't really like himself that much. And then there is this one girl he likes, the one who is always turning him down, the one who sees how flawed he is and won't take his shit. So she's the one girl he probably thinks in his messed up teenage head is going to make things okay for him; if only he can get her to go out with him then life won't suck so much. And then, bam. His bestfriend starts dating her. If you watch it from his perspective instead of Ringwald's, I don't know... The movie is just more interesting."

"Wow, you thought about this a lot-" Arthur replies sounding a little shocked.

"What? I really like James Spader," Dave says as he rubs the back of his neck and laughs uncomfortably.

Kurt ruffles his hair, "He was pretty cute in Stargate. What? Finn made me watch it."

The rest of the party passes by uneventfully and it isn't until Dave is pulling off his shirt to and crawling in to bed next to Kurt that he says it, the thing that's been sort of pressing at the back of his mind since Dave mentioned it:

"What was your story?"

"What?" Dave rolls on to his side to face Kurt, pulls the blanket up over his waist, and thinks about pressing his feet up against Kurt's warm calf because they're freezing.

"If high school hadn't been 'The Kurt Hummel Show' if it had followed you around... What was your story?"

Dave frowns and looks away. The wall, the ceiling, the dresser, anywhere but Kurt's face.

"Let's just go to sleep."

"David," Kurt says sharply and Dave rolls on to his back and stares up at Kurt's white ceiling.

"Lonely," he finally says and lets out a breath in annoyance, "can we go to sleep now?"

"David-" he repeats and Dave lets out an annoyed grunt.

"I don't know, Kurt. I don't really remember a lot about high school anymore. I'm pretty sure that my brain tried to block it out. It was just... It was hard, okay? It was really fucking difficult to be on the field or on the rink. Everyone was calling everyone else a fag and queer like it was the worst fucking thing you could be, next to a girl." He laughs dully and turns his head to the side to look at Kurt. "Sure, they fucking directed at you, hell I directed it at you, but most people tried to keep their mouth shut at least. But if I was there obviously they didn't need to, so everything was 'fucking gay' and any one you didn't like was a fag."

Kurt doesn't say anything just looks back at him with an unreadable sort of pity on his face and Dave keeps talking, "I was so fucking scared someone would find out. It's like I thought my life would fucking end or something. And then one day I kind of woke up and I, well, I... I just I don't know. I wasn't scared anymore. Not in the same way. Look, can we just go to sleep now? I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Kurt laces his fingers with Dave's and they falls asleep with his head pressed against his shoulder.

Dave spends roughly three nights a week over at Kurt's house. Sometimes on the weekend Kurt stays with Dave at his place, but his bed is small and he shares the room with a slightly obnoxious hockey player so that usually only happens when they've been out drinking and it's significantly closer than Kurt's.

* * *

One Friday morning in early May Dave wakes up to a persistent knock on the apartment door. He groans, checks his phone which tells him it's ten fifteen in the morning, which means Kurt has class, but should be getting back any minute. He sits up, swings his legs over the edge and trudges to answer the door to Kurt's apartment. He's still half-asleep, unshaven and barefoot in a plain white shirt and a pair of black boxers. His hand fumbles for a second as he undoes the deadbolt and pulls open the door and yawns a second time.

"Did you forget your keys again? I keep telling you to-" Dave stops mid sentence, blinks, blinks again, blinks a third time, "Hudson?"

"Karofsky?" Dave didn't think it was possible, but Finn sounds even more confused than he does. "What the hell are you doing in my brother's apartment?"

"Stepbrother," Dave corrects automatically for no more reason other than to have something to say. He glances to the left and right and tries to think of a million reasons he might be in Kurt's apartment that don't involve something along the lines of 'we have sex on a regular basis and I just woke up' and comes up with none.

"Dude! Why aren't you wearing any pants?"

"What are you doing in Boston? Does Kurt know you're here?"

"No. It's a birthday surprise." Finn pauses and elaborates, "His birthday is this weekend."

"I know when his birthday is," Dave snaps back and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Seriously dude, what are you doing here? It's not like you guys were friends in high school.

"I... I got in a fight with my roommate. Kurt let me crash here last night. We're friends now, sort of." He takes a step backwards and Finn walks in and shuts the door behind him. Finn starts looking around the room.

"Pants," Dave says suddenly, "I'm going to put on pants and I am going to leave."

Dave moves in to Kurt's room and grabs a clean shirt and pair of jeans out of the top drawer of Kurt's antique dresser.

Finn is staring at him from the doorway; Dave's mouth is dry.

"You're sleeping with Kurt."

"I don't know what you're talking about, can you get out now? I'm trying to change."

"Dude," Finn says and frowns at him, "I might be slow sometimes, but I'm not dumb. You're at his house Friday morning in boxers. You answer the door like you're expecting him. You're sleeping with my brother.

"Stepbrother," Dave corrects like somehow that makes a difference, "and we're dating."  
"How long?" Finn enters the room and Dave turns his back to him and slides his jeans over his boxers and starts buttoning and zipping up.

"How long have we been dating? Or how long have been sleeping together?"

"Is there a big difference?" Finn's arms are crossed over his chest and he looks down at Dave.

Dave laughs and pulls his polo shirt over his plain white one, "yeah."

"How long have you been sleeping together?"

"Seven months." Dave walks over to the dresser and pulls out a pair of socks and back over to the bed where he sits down and starts putting on his shoes.

"How long have you been dating?"

Dave licks his lower lip and concentrates on untying his left shoe simply so he can retie and have something to do.

"Dude, it's a simple question."

"Fuck it," Dave growls as he stands up and grabs his keys off the bedside table, "I don't know man. You should be talking to Kurt about this not me." He pushes past Finn and heads out of the bedroom.

"David," Kurt's voice calls out from the living room as Dave exits Kurt's room, "Thank god. I thought you were still still asleep and I really I want to fuuuu-... Finn. Finn. Hi."

There is a long, long, damn near unbearable stretch of silence, Dave standing , Kurt at the door, and Finn a few steps behind Dave.

It's Finn who finally breaks the silence with a halfhearted "Surprise?"


End file.
